


lead me to silver

by zhujungjungting (runswithchopsticks)



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angst, Blood and Violence (not graphic), M/M, Minor Self-Harm (yes rly it's minor), Reincarnation (sort of?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-06 22:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12827529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runswithchopsticks/pseuds/zhujungjungting
Summary: “Hyung, why do you never fly?”Jihoon refuses to spread his wings.





	1. open

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Thanks for clicking on this... uhmmm I really wanted to do this AU but idk what ship and then Ongwink came up so I was like OK!!  
> This is my first Ongwink piece posted to my own works list that's not porn... my readers, are you not proud of me? LMAO  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy the piece!!
> 
> music: KARD - Into You

_start._

* * *

“Hyung, why do you never fly?”

Jihoon’s head shoots up suddenly from staring at the ribbon he’d been tying in his hands. His eyes meet Jinyoung’s, who is currently holding the palm of the boy whose back faces Jihoon. Jinyoung stares at him, just as shocked as Jihoon, and Jihoon nods slightly at him. Jinyoung returns his gesture, their connected gazes never having been interrupted.

“Hyung just prefers to walk, that’s all,” Jihoon replies, sweetly.

“But walking is so boring,” the boy whines, “it’s not fast either. Baba once let me fly with him over the city, and we flew from one end of Yanghwa Bridge to the other before the taxi I saw was even halfway there!”

“I understand,” Jihoon begins, quietly. He pulls on the two loops of the bow he’d just created, making sure the knot is tight before he pats the boy on the back.

“Jihoon-hyung just likes to walk because it lets him see from a human’s perspective,” Jinyoung adds. His eyes briefly meet Jihoon’s again, and there is a line of understanding that passes between them in that split second. Jinyoung tears his eyes away.

“Humans are so boring!” the boy exclaims. Jihoon stands up, grabbing onto one of the boy’s hands. He begins to walk, pulling the boy along, and Jinyoung trails behind them. “They can’t fly. They don’t live for long too. Baba also told me that some of them act worse than demons!” The boy shakes his head. “I don’t understand why I have to live with them.” He hums disapprovingly as Jihoon and Jinyoung walk him out of the house and up to the school bus waiting at the sidewalk.

“Don’t worry, Joohyun,” Jinyoung reassures, getting down on one knee and placing his palms on the boy’s shoulders. “When you turn sixteen, you’ll get to learn more about being an angel, and then you can live part-time with us, okay?”

Joohyun bites his lip. He scrunches his eyebrows and blows his cheeks out, but he begrudgingly nods and mutters, “Okay, Jinyoung-hyung.”

“Alright,” Jinyoung replies, smiling and patting Joohyun on the head. “Have fun at school, okay?” He stands up, and Jihoon lets go of Joohyun’s hand.

“Bye, hyungs!” Joohyun calls out as he turns his torso and waves, one foot up on the first step of the school bus, tall enough to nearly reach his waist.

When the vehicle drives away, Jinyoung turns back to him and looks him in the eye. “Can I ask?”

“What?” Jihoon responds.

“Why do you never fly?” There is a short span of silence, and Jinyoung hesitantly takes a step closer to Jihoon. “Your sentence was only for two centuries. You can fly now. You’ve been able to fly for a long time.”

Jihoon takes a step backwards, the fingers on the hand held hesitantly in front of him curling inwards in defense. “Just because I _can_ do something doesn’t mean I _want_ to.” He whips around, stalking back into the house, leaving Jinyoung standing in the driveway with nothing but the wind, the floating pieces of dead grass, and Jihoon’s words burning in front of his eyes.

* * *

_“Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” Jihoon says confidently, unsheathing the dagger hidden in the slip tucked under the sleeve of his shirt._

_“Are you sure?” Woojin asks, looking at him worriedly. He holds up his own set of knives, the blackened metal gleaming a dull yellow hue from the city lights. The blades are stunted and light, but Jihoon knows that that’s just short for silent and deadly. “I’ll be watching you.”_

_Jihoon nods curtly at him. “Thanks, but I can assure you I’ll be alright.”_

_“If you say so,” are Woojin’s last words before there’s the_ swish _of displaced nighttime air as Jihoon unravels his wings. He steps lightly off of the side of the building, and with an almost silent_ whoosh _of feathers, he’s descending down into the streets, his dagger gripped tightly in his hand. Woojin watches him from up above, his legs dangling off of the edge of brick, swinging them casually back and forth. A few seconds later, when Jihoon’s out of his sight, he stands up, tucking his knives back into his sleeves, and stares out at the city below him._

_It doesn’t take Jihoon long to find who he’s looking for -- the scent of him reeks, strong and resilient. Sulfurous, dusty, bitter, earthy -- they’re all the typical scents of death. All the typical scents of a demon, Jihoon knows. He finds him standing in the center of an alleyway, his back facing him. There’s the ruffling of his brown-black hair, the sheen of his black leather jacket illuminated by a single flickering light up above him, and his hands are casually tucked into his pockets. He stands still, as if he knew Jihoon were there, and he is waiting for him._

_Jihoon slams into his back with all his might behind him. He digs his fingers into his hair, pushing his head into the asphalt, and there is the cold press of the edge of a blade against his neck. Jihoon nudges the dagger, letting it slice through skin just the barest bit, and he watches the darkest scarlet he’s ever seen crawl out of the cut._

_He expects a struggle, yet he does not receive one. The person below his grip remains unmoving. “Where is your fight?” he hisses, leaning down until his lips are hardly a hair’s breadth away from an ear._

_“Park Jihoon,” Jihoon hears, and even through the force of Jihoon’s limb pressing his face to the ground, he manages to turn his head. When Jihoon sees his side profile, he feels the resilience inside of himself softening, because there’s something about the way that this demon looks at him--even through the clear hatred and malice--that strikes a chord within him, that’s whispering to him that everything really isn’t what it seems. His jaw and eyes are sharp--his eyes, especially, they are somehow a hue of black that matches his hair, yet their color shows gold upon hitting the light--and Jihoon thinks that if he were a human, he would be considered handsome._

_But he propels through that feeling, brushing it away, and curls backs his lips in a scowl. “So you know my name,” he growls, “you disgusting lot aren’t that uneducated after all, huh?”_

_The demon below him offers a cracked smile. If it were any other demon donning it, Jihoon thinks, it would appear to be haughty and foolish on them; yet, the smile on this demon can be seen as meaning nothing more than a smile._

_“Park Jihoon,” the demon begins, “do you know my name?”_

_“Of course,” Jihoon retorts, and he forcefully digs his fingernails into the demon’s head, hoping to receive a reaction, but the action yields none. “Ong Seongwoo.”_

_“So you know my name too,” Seongwoo replies, and his smile grows wider. He still stares at Jihoon out of the corner of his eye, for his other cheek is flat against the asphalt. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Park Jihoon.”_

_Jihoon practically snorts. He shifts the dagger in his hand, placing the flat side of the blade stark against Seongwoo’s skin -- a threat, but it seems Seongwoo has not recognized it, or he chooses to ignore it. “Answer my question,” he hisses, “where is your fight?”_

_“I don’t wish to fight you,” Seongwoo states, and the pressure of Jihoon’s blade against Seongwoo’s neck falters for just a second._

_“So you’re just going to let me kill you?” Jihoon scoffs, shaking his head. “This is disappointing.”_

_“I didn’t say that,” Seongwoo responds, and the tone of his voice is somehow both light and dark at the same time. He carries a casuality with his words, but Jihoon hears and sees something else in the lilting of his lips that signifies he means more than he says. “Look,” Seongwoo says, and he glances forward. Jihoon lifts his head, and stares in front of him, seeing nothing but the rest of the alleyway -- there’s two dumpsters, lamps hanging off of the sides of brick walls illuminating them, a no trespassing sign--_

_In a split second, his wrist is burning, and he’s slammed down onto the ground, knocking away his breath, the back of his head thudding harshly against the asphalt, sending fireworks through his vision and stabs of pain through his head. He winces, squeezing his eyes shut, and his dagger clatters to the ground a couple of meters away from him, for the impact caused him to lose his grip._

_When the pain in his head has mostly subsided, another overwhelmingly excruciating sensation hits him. He glances over at his left wrist, and he sees the sleeve of his shirt charring. But it is futile to attempt to move his arm and release his skin from the burning, because there’s a hand pinning his limb there, wrapped tightly around his wrist. A knee sits on the center of his chest, and a palm is placed next to his cheek._

_“I told you, I don’t wish to fight you,” Seongwoo repeats, and Jihoon glances up at Seongwoo’s face hovering above his eyes. His lips automatically curl back in a vicious growl._

_“Let go of me,” he snarls, “you disgusting--”_

_“I don’t understand why the humans all worship you angels when your lot is just as vicious as mine,” Seongwoo interrupts. Jihoon’s voice pauses, his lips slightly agape, and he meets Seongwoo’s eyes, noticing his dark locks framing his forehead and his temples. They are quite a similar color, Jihoon thinks. The grin on Seongwoo’s face has not faded, but alas, Jihoon still can’t see anything past it than what it simply is -- a grin. It’s as if Seongwoo were entirely emotionless, but something tells Jihoon that he’s not._

_At this point, Jihoon physically feels his skin melting away to reveal his raw flesh, and he hisses in pain, squinting his eyes because the edges of his vision are wavering. His fingers curl and uncurl erratically in an attempt to alleviate the sensation, and his legs thrash around, but he’s unable to lift himself up because of Seongwoo’s weight pinning him down._

_“Be careful, Park Jihoon,” Seongwoo says, and this time his voice has taken on a new kind of emotion. He sounds warning, almost ominous. “Don’t get too distracted--”_

_“Let go of me!” Jihoon cries, because the pain in his wrist is borderline unbearable -- he feels the fire staring to lick its way to the undermost layer of his skin, and as a result, all of his limbs are twitching and flexing carelessly._

_“--because if I wasn’t the one here with you right now, you’d be dead,” Seongwoo finishes._

_Jihoon closes his mouth at hearing Seongwoo’s words, and he swallows, staring up at those eyes. He watches that face retreat backwards, the weight lifting off of his chest, the burning being relinquished from his wrist, and he sits up just as Seongwoo stands up. Seongwoo stares at him, as if waiting for him to make a move, but when he doesn’t, he turns on his heel and runs. With a sound similar to a whir and the wavering of air, he disappears a second later, leaving nothing but heat waves that distort the surroundings in his wake._

_Jihoon cradles his wrist with his opposite palm, holding the limb closely to his chest. His gaze is still trained on the spot where Seongwoo had vanished, and if he closes his eyes, he can imagine the demon standing there right in front of him just before he was whisked away._

_“Are you okay?”_

_Jihoon is shaken out of his stupor. He glances up to his right, and Woojin stands there, having just landed. His wings fold back, and his hands are tucked in the pockets of his jeans._

_“I-I’m fine,” Jihoon replies, trying his best to keep his voice level, “just a little burnt.” He holds up his wrist, and Woojin winces._

_“Let’s get Daehwi to take a look at that, alright?” Woojin suggests, and he holds out a hand for Jihoon to take._

_Jihoon inhales a deep breath, grasping Woojin’s outstretched palm with his own, and for the first time that night, he’s realized how hard his heart had been pounding, for he all of a sudden feels dizzy from the rapid calming of his heartbeat._

* * *

Jihoon walks in to see Woojin polishing his knives.

“Out for another hunt?” he asks, setting his backpack down on his desk.

“Yeah,” Woojin hums, “later tonight.” He puts down the dirk he held in his hand -- since then, he had opted for a different style of knife, one where the blade is curved slightly, the base thick and stunted, but the tip thin and menacing. Jihoon has seen it in action before -- it whirs through the air without a single noise, almost-black metal rotating in a way that mimics the flapping of a raven’s wings.

He unzips his backpack, pulling out his laptop, placing it on his desk and opening it. While the device powers on, he turns around, and from a distance watches Woojin set down a knife and grab another one, the rag held in his other hand smoothing across the blade with cautious experience. “Father Noh finally let you carry more than six?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Woojin murmurs, nodding.

Jihoon turns his cheek away. “I still wonder how you manage to carry them all on you without letting them drop.”

“Experience,” Woojin simply replies. “It is the same with you, is it not?”

There’s a thick silence between the two of them, heavy enough that Jihoon could taste it if he were able to stick out his tongue. That uncomfortable crawling of dread slithers its way up his gut again, and the hand of his that hangs down at his side twitches. “Maybe,” is his whispered reply.

Woojin doesn’t give him a single glance. He sets down a knife and picks up another one, sliding over as he makes his way down the assembly of black blades. Jihoon glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and the only things he see are Woojin’s back and his neatly combed hair.

“Do you want to come with me?”  
Jihoon’s breath catches in his throat. He has to swallow down the air in order to reply. “No,” he responds, firmly.

“Okay,” Woojin immediately says, “okay.”

Even though it is not yet evening, Jihoon still wishes Woojin good luck. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he reminds, and when he hears the beginning of a smile painting Woojin’s lips, he adds, “too much.”

Woojin angles his head to stare over his shoulder. His gaze is tilted downwards, and Jihoon knows exactly where he’s staring.

“Do you need me to change your bindings again?”

Woojin shakes his head. “I took them off this morning.”

“Woojin--”

“Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself.”

At Woojin’s words, Jihoon immediately shuts his mouth. “Fine,” he replies, curtly, crossing his arms. He turns, sliding into his chair, and stares at his laptop screen.

A minute later, he hears the quiet thud of metal against wood as Woojin sets down a knife. What he doesn’t expect, however, is for a pair of arms to wrap around his neck and head, enveloping him in an embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he hears, “I promise I’ll try my best to not get hurt.”

He also hears, although not verbally, “I’m sorry I can’t help.”

* * *

_With the rancid smell of smoke, it’s difficult for Jihoon to pick up his scent, but a century and more of experience has taught him ways of finding them without solely the guide of smell. He finds him with his back against a the bark of a thin pine, and amongst the smoke, sulfur, and earth, there is also the tangy taste of blood in the air._

_“_ You _,” he hisses, in his ear. In a split second, his elbow has hooked around the demon’s neck, right below his jaw, and the tip of a tagger is pointed at his throat. “What did you do?”_

_“J-Jihoon--” Seongwoo begins, but he is interrupted by the running of a blade against his skin._

_“Answer me,” Jihoon growls. He can feel the rapid rise and fall of Seongwoo’s Adam's apple against his skin, and the breaths the demon takes are hasty and strangled, as if there was more than just a dagger at his throat. Jihoon expects some desultory response; enough of one that it would give him the option to drive the dagger right through Seongwoo’s throat. However, the tip of his blade wavers at Seongwoo’s response._

_“I didn’t mean to, I just--” Seongwoo coughs, and Jihoon feels the wet of spit cling onto his skin._

_“You_ ‘didn’t mean to’ _?” Jihoon asks incredulously, and some of the menace that was previously instilled in his voice has fallen. He lowers his arm slowly, allowing Seongwoo to turn his head and look at him._

_The edges of the demon’s face are singed with smoke. His mouth is open, intaking rushed breaths, and his eyes glimmer wildly in the daylight. He appears a bit crazed, almost desperate, and when Jihoon’s eyes trail downward past his chin and neck, he notices the dark scarlet splatterings on Seongwoo’s jacket, right over his shoulder. Some of the blood has already begun curdling, but the rest of it is shiny and fresh. Seongwoo is gripping onto the edge of his shoulder, hunching the joint forward. His head falls._

_“I saw him, face-down in the river,” Seongwoo begins, voice husky. Jihoon needn’t ask to know who he is talking about. “I jumped in, I grabbed him, and I pulled him out, but when we both were back on land-- I-I-- I didn’t know, I swear, I was just holding onto him, and then he started burning--”_

_At this point, the hand that holds the dagger has fallen from Seongwoo’s throat, although Jihoon has not realized it._

_“--and then that lady came, I think she thought I killed him, and she was wielding a knife. I tried to get her to stop, but when I laid my hands on her, she just started burning too… and she screamed, she screamed and stabbed me and it was the worst thing I’ve ever felt--” Seongwoo’s voice has fallen quieter, his words fragmented with their haste. With his rambling, his need for breath had increased, and Jihoon can visibly see the rise and fall of his diaphragm as he sucks in air. Beads of sweat scale down his temples, clearing trails of skin amidst the soot as a result of both his despair and the pain he feels from his wound. His face is noticeably pale, and the expression he stares at Jihoon with sends a strange feeling through the angel’s heart -- eyes wide, lips ajar, head tilted back, closing his eyes for a moment as the demon attempts to breathe slowly in the silence that has settled between them._

_“Stop,” Jihoon whispers, and he lets his arms fall. He gets up onto his feet, and Seongwoo’s eyes follow him. “Stop-- don’t--” He notices that the hand of Seongwoo’s that had been holding onto his shoulder has now moved over his wound, and Jihoon crouches down once more, wrapping his fingers gently around the demon’s wrist. With caution, he lifts up Seongwoo’s hand, seeing the erratic twitching of his fingers, the black-scarlet coating his skin and fingernails, and Jihoon closes his eyes for a moment._

_When he opens them, he sees Seongwoo’s eyes staring directly at him. The skin around the demon’s mouth, including his lips, is dry and stained with red and gray. Jihoon drops Seongwoo’s hand, and it curls back around the wound._

_“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry this happened to you.”_

_“What’ve you got to be sorry for?” Seongwoo immediately replies. His eyes flit downward, and Jihoon follows their path. They land on the dagger clenched in his right hand. “I killed people. Go ahead, it’s only right. It’s your job.”_

_At the demon’s words, something inside of Jihoon clicks. His body freezes, and he’s unsure of the next step to take. But there’s Seongwoo’s face looking up at him with an expression that could be read as hopeful; however, to Jihoon, it’s anything but hopeful. There’s the blinking of Seongwoo’s eyes, his lashes fluttering against his blackened skin, body shaking with his attempt at keeping the edges of his biting pain away from seeping through his expression. He grimaces, looking away for a moment, and it’s then that Jihoon notices his lips are trembling. Seongwoo watches his own hand snaking across his wound, and when he briefly takes his palm off, there’s an even more startling painting of black-scarlet across his skin. His hand shakes, as if the sight of his own blood terrified him even more, and his head falls farther._

_Jihoon’s fingernails are digging into the hilt of his dagger._ Go _, he tells himself, and his hand has become numb with how hard he’s pressing in his fingers, knuckles white with pressure, but when he raises the blade, the images of Seongwoo’s face he’s seen the two times they’ve met flash through his mind -- there’s Seongwoo, hovering over him with an expression that means more than it appears, and there’s Seongwoo staving off the edges of his pain and exhaustion, looking up at Jihoon with hope that’s not quite hopeful at all._

 _But there’s also Seongwoo and that one look he gave Jihoon as he disappeared into nothing but hot air._ I don’t wish to fight you _\-- the words play through Jihoon’s head like a mixtape._

_It’s then that Jihoon whips around and runs, taking off into the air without a single thought -- he can’t do it, he nearly drops his dagger in the process, and he’s all of a sudden flying higher and higher into the air, until all he sees are the gray of the clouds and the beginnings of stars that remind him of the wild glimmer in Seongwoo’s eyes._

* * *

With a flourish of black feathers, Guanlin’s wings dissipate into thin air as he steps through the doorway.

“How was training?” Jihoon asks.

“Boring as always,” Guanlin drawls, rolling his head. He's got his thumbs hooked casually in his pockets as he ambles over to the refrigerator, crouching down after he opens it. Jihoon doesn't give him a single glance from his spot at the dining table. “Miss Chungha put me on Archives for the next three weeks. I'm going to die being stuck in the library for that long.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes at Guanlin’s exaggerated tone. “We all had to go through the same thing when we were your age, you know,” he reminds.

“And I don't understand how you guys survived it. I just wanna get out there and fight, y’know. I'm ready to do it!” As if to prove his point, Guanlin braces a hand on the opposite wrist, whose palm had curled into a fist, and he aims a punch into the air, grunting as he does so. Jihoon hears a _whoosh_ as Guanlin slices through nothing, and he inwardly winces.

“Not everything is fighting, you know,” he reminds, warningly, an edge in his voice.

“Maybe not for you, but that's sure what I'm most excited about,” Guanlin replies. He aims another punch in the air, hunching his shoulders forward and bringing in his hands to his face and forearms to his chest in a boxing stance. “By the way, hyung, I've never seen you fight or go out on hunts. Why's that?”

Jihoon bites his lip anxiously, turning a cheek away from Guanlin's view, even though the other angel was not necessarily looking at him. “That's none of your business, Guanlin,” he states, shortly.

“Hey, man, no need to get so defensive,” Guanlin hums, as he punches an invisible opponent. “Was just asking. You're the only one out of our group that I've never seen hold a weapon and stuff. You're also the only one I've seen that actually attempts at living like a human.”

Jihoon's body freezes, and his vision wavers as he stares directly at the text in his textbook. The writing seems to be mocking him for a moment, but he quickly shakes his head. Guanlin is new, and therefore he is naïve.

“What're you on, like your fifth Bachelor's degree?”

“How do you know that?” Jihoon exclaims, immediately turning his body. Guanlin drops his boxing stance in surprise, staring at Jihoon curiously. “You haven't even lived long enough to see me receive more than one.”

“What?” Guanlin replies, shrugging. “Jinyoung-hyung told me. It's not that difficult to find out, hyung.”

“I-- right,” Jihoon murmurs. He hadn't realized until then that he'd been sitting on the edge of his seat, and he pushes himself back until he feels his shoulder blades hit the wood backing.

“You got nothing to be so tense about,” Guanlin mutters, going back into his fighting stance, “if you don't wanna answer me, then don't.”

“I just--” Jihoon's mind is searching for any sort of way to justify his actions, and Guanlin's stare on him is sending uncomfortable crawlings up his spine. There's a whispering at the back of his mind that goes, “What if he ends up thinking like the others?”

“I just don't want you to think that fighting is the only worthy part of being an angel. Even though it's our job to kill demons, there's more ways to do that than fighting. Not only is it dangerous, Guanlin, but the more of us that get hurt, the more strain is put on Daehwi and the others. Think about that.”

It takes a moment before Guanlin is able to formulate his reply. But when he does, he speaks as he goes back to assaulting an invisible enemy. “I getcha, hyung, but that doesn't mean fighting isn't my favorite part. For me, if I can't fight demons, then what's the point of being an angel?”

The fingers over Jihoon's textbook curl inwards automatically at hearing Guanlin's words. _There's so much more,_ he wants to shout, _the life of an angel can mean so much more._

* * *

_Seongwoo turns his head when he hears the soft landing of sneakers atop the cement. A smile crawls its way onto his lips, which are a little bit purple from the cold. “Here to finally do your job?” he jokes._

_“I thought demons couldn’t fly,” Jihoon blatantly states, crossing his arms._

_“Maybe we can’t, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t better charmers than you angels,” Seongwoo responds, simply._

_Jihoon sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. He opens them as he lifts his head, staring out at the cityscape below his chin. The sickly fog of the night slips over the lights like a veil, blurring them and dispersing the colors he sees as if they were drops of ink struggling their way through the clout of ice water. He views this kind of scene almost every day, but he has never taken the moment to give the lights the attention they give him. “I’m not here to fight you,” he states, and his voice is carried away by the wind that brushes across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose._

_“That’s a lovely surprise,” Seongwoo responds, a bit of a sarcastic edge in his words. “I welcome the change.”_

_“You’re sitting atop a skyscraper,” Jihoon points out. He takes a step closer to Seongwoo, who had some time ago turned his head back to stare at the city, but with the soft pad of a sole coming closer to him, he looks up and watches Jihoon with not fear, but curiosity._

_“And?” he asks, raising an eyebrow._

_“Quite sentimental of you, Seongwoo.”_

_“I can choose to be sentimental when I want. You’re the one that followed me up here and said you didn’t want to fight me. What gives?” He extends his arms fully, fingers and palms splayed wide open. If Jihoon wanted to kill him, he might as well give him the chance. Seongwoo closes his eyes, tilting his head slightly back. He focuses on the wind brushing against his hair, and waits._

_“So?” he asks, after a few long moments, raising an eyebrow, his eyes still closed. There’s the smell of the city pollution beneath him and the roar of vehicles as they screech by._

_“You give up so easily,” Jihoon murmurs, pushing aside one of Seongwoo’s outstretched arms to take a seat on the concrete. “Why?”_

_Seongwoo looks over in surprise at Jihoon, who is now facing directly ahead of himself. The outline of his profile, tracing down from his forehead to his nose to his lips and chin, is a calm dark blue -- a contrast to the chaotic roiling of the city below. “That all you came here to ask me?” Seongwoo inquires._

_“Maybe, maybe not,” Jihoon replies, curtly. “I asked you a question. Are you going to answer me or not?”_

_At Jihoon’s snarky response, Seongwoo smirks. “Fine,” he goes, voice fading into a sigh, as if he were being asked to do a chore. “You really want to know? I’ll tell you.” He pauses for a moment, inhaling a breath of the biting, frosty air. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”_

_“What in the world is that supposed to mean?” Jihoon immediately replies. He frowns at Seongwoo, swinging his legs off of the side of the building._

_“Let me finish.” Seongwoo holds up a hand. “I mean that in the way that I don’t know why I’m a demon.” He holds up his other palm, turning them both to face himself. “These hands,” he begins, “what am I supposed to do with them? You see--” And much to Jihoon’s shock, Seongwoo reaches out an index finger, tracing the side of Jihoon’s face. The angel winces, his body trembling for a split second. His hands twitch in instinct to grab the offending limb and twist it, but he forces himself to remain still. “I can touch you and tell myself to not burn you, and I won’t burn you. But if I touch humans, even if I tell myself that I don’t want to burn them, I burn them anyways. Why’s that?” Seongwoo drops his hands back into his lap, and he turns his cheek away, staring down below at cars rushing by in the streets below his feet._

_“You’re asking an angel a question about why a demon is a demon,” Jihoon states, knitting his eyebrows together in a scowl. “How would I know?”_

_Seongwoo chuckles at his response, his teeth showing and his eyes rising up slightly into crescents. Jihoon stares at him as he laughs for those few moments, remaining silent and unmoving. “My friends tell me that’s just the way things are,” Seongwoo hums, leaning backwards and bracing his hands behind himself in order to stare up at the night sky. It’s an empty dark blue with no stars in sight. “So really, does that mean my only purpose in life is to burn humans? Is that really it?”_

_“Like your friends said,” Jihoon replies, matter-of-factly, “that’s just the way things are. Why in the world do I have wings--” with a_ swish, _he extends them, and they fly out behind his person in a sweep of white tinted blue with the night. “--and this dagger--” he slides his weapon out of his sleeve, gripping the marbled hilt. The blade sparkles as if it were a rare gem, and Jihoon points it at Seongwoo’s throat. The demon’s eyes flit down to glance at the dagger, but his face still remains up to the sky. “--and am supposed to kill you?”_

_“Don’t you want to kill me ‘cause you hate me?” Seongwoo asks. Jihoon can hear the beginning of a laugh in his voice._

_“Valid point,” Jihoon murmurs, and sheathes his blade. “But isn’t it the same for you? You want to kill me because you hate me. So why aren’t you trying to do that now?” He doesn’t know what kind of answer he expects, but it’s certainly not the one that Seongwoo gives him._

_“How can I hate a person I’ve only just met?”_

_The whisper of an “oh” escapes Jihoon’s lips, and he looks away, because the truth of Seongwoo’s words at that moment hit him like a wave. “But I’m not a person,” he points out, “I’m an angel.”_

_“That doesn’t matter,” Seongwoo scoffs, throwing up his head. He shifts his position, going back to sitting with his hands in his lap. “You look like a person. You talk and act like one. Only difference is that you’ve got wings and are basically immortal. That’s literally the only separation between you and him.” He points to something down below, and when Jihoon glances downwards, he sees a man walking on the sidewalk. “Yeah, you see?” Seongwoo murmurs, when nothing greets him but silence. “It’s the same with me. So therefore, I’m supposed to burn people just for the sake of burning people.”_

_“Do you wish you weren’t a demon?” Jihoon asks._

_“I don’t know about that,” Seongwoo murmurs. “If I weren’t, what would I be, then? An angel? I don’t think I’d want to be an angel. I don’t have the guts to go out and stab demons every night.”_

_Jihoon laughs at his statement, a hand coming up and fingers curling over his lips. Seongwoo himself lets out a soft huff at his words, and for once, a smile that isn’t twisted adorns his face._

_“Is that really how you view us?” Jihoon asks, “As those things that go out and stab your kind?”_

_“Kinda, yeah,” Seongwoo hums, “at least, my friends think that way. That one angel, the one with the throwing knives? He’s nasty.” He wrinkles his nose, grimacing. “He did a number on one of my friends. If the blade went through my friend just a little bit more to the left, it would’ve gone right through his liver.”_

_Jihoon giggles. “That’s Woojin,” he points out, “don’t go near him unless you actually want to taste what death is like.”_

_“Duly noted.” Seongwoo nods. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, and Jihoon’s eyes flit up and watch Seongwoo’s fingers brush through his black-brown strands. He notices that the barest of the city lights reflect off of Seongwoo’s eyes, and now, the almost-black is dotted with bits of color in patterns depending on how the demon turns his head._

_Subconsciously, Jihoon's hand shifts, almost going and reaching up to brush away the rest of the hair that’s framing Seongwoo’s temples, as the wind had blown the strands across skin. But he catches the feeling at the very last moment, turning his head away and stifling the urge._

_“I need to go,” he states. Seongwoo watches him stand up, flaring out his wings behind him._

_“Bye,” the demon says._

_“Bye,” Jihoon returns, his voice almost a whisper, and it’s lost in the wind as he turns and lets the frosted night dictate where he goes._

* * *

“Have you chosen a weapon yet?” Jinyoung asks. He reaches with his chopsticks and plucks another piece of napa off of the dish in front of him.

“No,” Guanlin mutters, rolling his eyes. He shifts position and crosses his left leg over his right.

As if Jinyoung could read what Guanlin was thinking, he points his chopsticks at the latter and raises an eyebrow. “You’re not allowed to just go and fight demons using only your fists, Guanlin. Not only is that extremely stupid, but what is your plain fist going to do against magic?”

“You’re beginning to sound an awful lot like Jihoon-hyung, Jinyoung-hyung,” Guanlin points out, sighing. He stuffs a piece of tofu into his mouth, chewing animatedly.

“Hey…” Jihoon weakly protests, but his voice is drowned out by Jinyoung’s continued lecturing.

“Seriously. Don’t you remember? Jaehwan-hyung was stupid enough to attempt to fight a demon when he got disarmed. If Woojin-hyung hadn’t found him at the last second and intervened, then Jaehwan-hyung might as well be dead now.”

Jihoon winces slightly at Jinyoung’s words. Guanlin notices his reaction, and he jests, “C’mon, hyung. Look, you’re even making Jihoon-hyung uncomfortable.” The only reaction Jihoon can provide him is a sigh as he runs a palm over his face.

Jinyoung glances over at him worriedly. His lips part, as if he were about to ask a question, and Jihoon avoids his eye contact. The next moment, Jinyoung shuts his mouth, turning back to Guanlin. “Just choose a weapon, okay, Guanlinnie? If you start specialized combat training too late, you won’t be able to go on hunts with the rest of us anytime soon.”

“Hmm,” Guanlin hums, pursing his lips.

“What’re you thinking about choosing?”

“Tiger claws, maybe. Or brass knuckles or gauntlets.”

The skin between Jinyoung’s eyebrows crinkle slightly in doubt. _That’s dangerous,_ Jihoon can hear himself saying, yet the words don’t come out of his mouth. _Coming into close quarters with a demon that way is extremely risky._

“Tiger claws,” Jinyoung says, his voice firm. Guanlin’s list consisted of all unconventional weapons, and Jihoon has not seen any angel use a fist weapon for as long as he can immediately remember. One of his hands skates over Guanlin’s wrist, wrapping around the joint. Guanlin glances at him, raising an eyebrow, his gaze flitting between Jihoon’s eyes and his hand.

“Be careful,” Jihoon warns. He sees Guanlin open his mouth exasperatedly, probably about to complain about how his hyungs are worrying too much, but Jihoon continues speaking. “It’s different when you actually get out there, Guanlin. One brash decision and everything can… spiral downwards.”

At Jihoon’s words, Jinyoung’s eyebrows raise slightly, his eyes widening just a bit. He quickly neutralizes his expression, but Jihoon had noticed the shock on his face. Jihoon smiles that little smile of his that means to reassure his friends and tell them he’s fine, and he turns his cheek away from Jinyoung’s gaze.

Later that night, Jinyoung walks up to him as he’s poring over another textbook. “Hey,” Jinyoung says.

“What?” Jihoon replies, blinking up at Jinyoung curiously.

Jinyoung sighs, and he places his palms on Jihoon’s cheeks. “You’re alright, right?”

“Yeah, what made you think I wasn’t?”

“I know it sometimes comes back to you.” Jinyoung’s thumbs are stroking the skin below Jihoon’s eyes. Jihoon knows it’s meant to be an action of comfort, but he feels nothing besides the slightly roughened pads of his friend’s fingers grazing across his face.

“I’m fine, Jinyoung,” he reassures, huffing with the beginning of a soft laugh, placing his hands atop his friend’s. “Don’t mind me. Just go and make sure Guanlin doesn’t do anything stupid, alright? I don’t want to see him hurt.”

“...Yeah,” Jinyoung mutters, and he takes his hands off of Jihoon’s face. “I’ll make sure Guanlin doesn’t do anything stupid. I’ll take care of him.” With the last two sentences he speaks, his voice has dropped slightly in pitch. Jihoon purses his lips, closing his eyes for a moment, because he can hear the regret seeping into Jinyoung’s voice from those words, and he can practically see his friend adding onto that last statement -- _unlike how I failed to take care of you._

He closes his textbook. It’s much too late for studying, even though the time on his phone states it’s hardly a few hours into the night. He turns his head, staring out the window, and he sees the green and the gold and the silver and the blue and the red of the city lights ahead of him. At this point in his lifetime, he’s seen them so often that they haunt his dreams.

* * *

_“I never understood. Why fire?” Seongwoo asks. He stares down at his palms held up to his face and flexes his fingers._

_“Again, you’re asking an angel a question about why a demon is a demon,” Jihoon states, flatly. He stares at Seongwoo’s palms as well, and he lifts his own left wrist. The skin is still slightly red and raw from the burn inflicted during his first encounter with Seongwoo, although with a combination of time and Daehwi’s help, Jihoon had recovered quickly enough where he could go back out at night within a few days._

_“Don’t you guys learn about us in your training?” Seongwoo hums. He drops his hands back into his lap. “They teach you everything, don’t they? At least, we were told that.”_

_Jihoon snorts, scratching the back of his neck. “And in turn, you guys are taught everything about us, aren’t you?”_

_“A fair amount. Your combat training, depending on the weapon used, can last up to seven years.”_

_“And your combat training, depending on the characteristics of your power, can last up to six years.”_

_Seongwoo throws his head back and laughs at Jihoon’s canny response. Jihoon’s lips curl up into a shrewd smile from hearing the demon’s laughter. The sound resounds through the nighttime air, and for a moment that’s the only noise Jihoon hears, as if it were simply him and Seongwoo sitting together in the middle of the galaxy with no one to hear them besides each other and the stars._

_“Do you guys go through training with weapons as well?” Jihoon asks._

_Seongwoo shakes his head. “Nah. Past learning hand-to-hand combat, we’re automatically switched to honing destructive magic after that.” He pauses for a moment, holding his hand in front of his face palm-up. Jihoon watches curiously, and the next second, he sees wisps of steam rise off of the surface of Seongwoo’s skin. The air in front of his nose, which had been chilly and biting a moment before, is now warm and heavy. “Do you guys learn magic or anything like that?”_

_Jihoon laughs softly. “Besides the wings,” he points out, and there’s a soft rustle behind him as he shifts his wings, “we’re literally not magical at all. Well, except the healer, and even then his ‘magic’ isn’t really ‘magic’ at all. It’s probably just charms and good salve mixing.” He giggles, as an image of Daehwi sitting in front of his little cauldron while stirring some ugly paste, so concentrated it seems as if he were trying to solve the question of why the universe came to exist, pops into his mind. Seongwoo has no clue what Jihoon’s laughing about, but he smiles as well._

_“Isn’t that weird?” Seongwoo asks, and Jihoon looks over in interest, “That we’re kind of… switched. One of us looks completely like a human, except has supernatural power, and the other one doesn’t look like a typical human, but uses a human weapon.”_

_“I guess,” Jihoon responds, shrugging his shoulders. “If you’re about to ask me why that’s the way it is, I really don’t know.”_

_Seongwoo chuckles. “Nah,” he murmurs. “At this point, I get that both you and I don’t know anything about why things are the way they are.” His words fade into a comfortable silence, because at the moment, there’s nothing either party needs to say. Jihoon stares down at the ground below him through the space between his feet. He tries to line up his toes with each successive path, starting with the sidewalk, then the left streetway, then the right, and so on, his legs extending just slightly every time._

_“Hey,” Seongwoo says, not a beat later._

_“What?” Jihoon raises and turns his head, staring directly at Seongwoo._

_Seongwoo raises a finger hesitantly and places it on Jihoon’s temple. This time around, Jihoon doesn’t flinch._

_After noticing that the angel isn’t at all uncomfortable, the demon’s eyes flit upward, and he begins to slowly trace his way down Jihoon’s temple and cheek, gaze following his path. He ends at the tip of Jihoon’s chin, and their eyes connect. “I could just burn you like this,” he states calmly._

_“And I--” Jihoon begins, gaze unwavering. He never breaks his eye contact with Seongwoo as he silently slips his dagger out of his right sleeve before holding it up, glinting blade first, and places the top of the silver against Seongwoo’s bottom lip. “--could just stab you like this.”_

_And much to Jihoon’s shock, Seongwoo presses his lips forward just slightly and takes the tip of the dagger into his mouth._

_Jihoon immediately frowns, his nose scrunching up and eyebrows coming together. “What in the world are you doing?” he asks, and he mentally reminds himself to not suddenly retract the blade, or else he might end up slicing Seongwoo in the process._

_Seongwoo recoils a bit, taking his mouth off of the silver. He smiles at Jihoon’s strange expression. “I gave you a chance to kill me.”_

_“Shouldn’t it be painfully obvious now that my intent is not to kill you?” Jihoon states, flatly, “Or else, you know, I would’ve done it long ago. You’re full of openings.”_

_“Whatever,” Seongwoo scoffs, turning away his head for a second, “thought I might as well make the offer obvious, in case you weren’t aware of the fact.”_

_“Sure,” Jihoon jeers. “Whatever you say,_ demon. _”_

_“If you aren’t here to kill me, then why are you just sitting here? Shouldn’t you go and do something more important?”_

_“Well, I could ask the same thing about you. Why are you here?” Jihoon retorts, crossing his arms and staring at Seongwoo pointedly, narrowing his eyes._

_“Maybe I just want to hang out with you.”_

_“You want to hang out with an_ angel, _” Jihoon affirms. “_ Me. _An_ angel. _”_

 _“Why not?” Seongwoo hums. “You’re here with me, you know. Maybe you want to hang out with me._ Me. _A_ demon. _”_

_Jihoon shuts his mouth, which had been gaping slightly open. He considers Seongwoo’s words for a moment, and Seongwoo watches him out of the corner of his eye curiously. Since Jihoon’s a little bit shorter, from his angle, he sees the skin below Seongwoo’s chin, whose shadow melds easily with the one created by the defined corner of his jaw. His eyes trace all the way to Seongwoo’s mouth. “What’re you looking at?” Seongwoo asks._

_“Nothing,” Jihoon immediately replies, the slightest of a frown still remaining on his expression. “What if I really just want to hang out with you?” He leans forward until the tip of his nose is only several centimeters away from Seongwoo’s face and knits together his eyebrows, staring critically, as if he were trying to scientifically dissect the characteristics of the demon’s appearance. “What is that supposed to mean?” He tilts in even more, until the tip of his nose is now barely away from touching Seongwoo’s upper lip, still frowning. “So what?”_

_Seongwoo angles his head slightly down so that he’s staring Jihoon straight in the eye. “You want to know ‘so what’?” he asks._

_“Yeah,” Jihoon says, “so what?” He’s so close that Seongwoo can feel the warmth of his breaths against his skin. It’s polarizing compared to the chilliness in the air. The demon’s entire face had numbed slightly from the cold, although the section of skin in direct contact with Jihoon’s breathing is slowly beginning to thaw._

_“So nothing,” Seongwoo replies, simply._

_Jihoon smirks. “I like the way you think,” he states._

_Seongwoo returns his grin. “Me too,” he agrees, “And you know what?”_

_Jihoon presses himself forward until their smiles are almost against each other. “What?” he asks, and if anything, his smirk grows wider._

_“I like the way you think too.”_

_Their noses bump together. “Awesome,” Jihoon whispers, against Seongwoo’s lips. Their smiles are matched perfectly, just like the way Seongwoo’s reaching forward to grab Jihoon’s wrist and just like the way Jihoon’s gripping at the collar of Seongwoo’s jacket, curling his fingers in in a manner that bodes for more than just adrenaline and excitement._

* * *

“Morning,” Daehwi greets, as he sees Jihoon walk into the living room.

“You’re up early,” Jihoon murmurs, his voice broken in a yawn. He rubs his eyes, and the image of Daehwi looking at him from his spot on the couch becomes clear.

“No, you’re just up late,” Daehwi teases. He smiles coyly, and Jihoon attempts to grin back because Daehwi is very nice and precious, but the feeling of death he gets every time he wakes up early in the morning is still clawing at his brain. “How’s your classes been going, hyung?”

“Fi-ine,” Jihoon replies, another yawn breaking into his voice. He shuffles into the kitchen, returning with a mug of coffee poured from the pot that Woojin made before he left earlier that morning. When he returns to the living room, he sits down next to Daehwi. “How’re yours?”

“Perfect,” Daehwi hums contentedly. The morning news is turned on on the TV, although the volume is lowered to the point where the room would have to be completely silent for one to hear the reporter speaking on the screen.

“How perfect can forensic philosophy _really_ get?” Jihoon scoffs. There’s extra snark in him this morning, and with the pout Daehwi shoots him, he immediately softens his expression and rubs a hand on his friend’s arm in an attempt of apologizing.

“Why don’t you take a break?” Daehwi asks, gently. He places his palm on the back of Jihoon’s hand. “I don’t need to have gone to med school to notice that you’ve been exhausted to your wit’s end, hyung, and that it’s dangerous for your body. Maybe you won’t die, but you’ll be more susceptible to illnesses. And you’ve already got like, what, five or six degrees?” He quirks a smile at Jihoon. “I like school, but even I don’t think I’d want to study _that_ much.”

Jihoon takes in a deep breath. It might clear his head, it might not, but at the moment, Daehwi’s words are hard for him to process. “Well, what else am I supposed to do?” he asks, taking a sip of his coffee. “There is quite literally nothing else for me to do.”

Daehwi shrugs nonchalantly. “You could help me?” he suggests, his voice raising in pitch, because he realizes it’s probably a suggestion Jihoon’s going to immediately reject -- the other option on his mind, he knows, is a subject that’s precious, something that must be skirted around. “I could always use a helping hand. Everyone is getting beat up all the time.”

Jihoon takes another sip of coffee. He stares straight ahead at the TV, and the movement of the reporter’s lips are so animated to him that the man on the screen almost appears to be a robot. “I don’t have any experience with healing. If you’d ask me to reset a dislocated joint, I would probably end up resetting it backwards.”

“Fair enough,” Daehwi huffs bashfully, bring up a hand to his lips and laughing softly. “Yeah, seems like you and Woojin were the pair that kept on getting the worst beatings.”

Jihoon raises his eyebrows slightly, pausing momentarily halfway through a sip. The heat from his coffee, contained by the porcelain of his mug, makes the air feel muddled around his lips and nose. “That’s true,” he agrees, when he brings his mug down.

“What’re you doing now, again?” Daehwi asks with a hum. “Criminal justice, right?”

“No.” Jihoon shakes his head. “That’s Woojin. I’m doing anthropology.”

“Close enough,” Daehwi mutters, turning his head away and staring back at the TV.

Jihoon’s about to protest -- there’s no way that learning about human origins and the development of culture is the same about studying law and when or when not to decide to shoot a suspect, but Daehwi’s already standing up. “Tell me if you change your mind about helping me,” he says. “If you ever get bored of your studying.”

“Okay,” Jihoon murmurs, staring down at his hands holding his mug in his lap. He hears Daehwi shuffle away, and he finally lets out the sigh he’d been holding in.

* * *

_The next time he finds him, there’s the scent of the earth that he always carries with him, but there’s also the sharp tangy taste of iron muddled with the dirt and the sulfur. An inkling of panic climbs up Jihoon’s throat -- he tells himself he should calm down, but he knows it’s likely that Seongwoo has sustained a significant injury if the smell of blood is so acute._

_He nearly crashes into Seongwoo, barely manage to slow his speed as he lands. There’s blood rushing through his head, and he’s all of a sudden drenched in cold sweat -- it’s a similar feeling he gets right before a fight. His hands shake, and his movements are so panicked that he trips on the grass and stumbles, burying his knees and fingers into the dirt before he manages to regain control of his body._

_“What’re you--” Seongwoo begins, his voice raspy, but Jihoon interrupts him panickedly._

_“W-What happened--” Jihoon stutters out, his eyes wide and breath panting as he crawls over to Seongwoo. Lifting his hands, his fingers shake as they hover over the demon’s side. “N-No no--”_

_“Calm d-down,” Seongwoo grits out. He inhales through his mouth, but it’s difficult for his chest to rise and fall, so his breaths come in and out in trembles. When he slightly shifts his position, his jaw clenches as a pained_ tch _slips out of his mouth._

_“I-It’s not-- it’s not through your lung, is it?” Jihoon asks, his voice hushed, hands still hovering over the dark pool of scarlet that’s soaked into Seongwoo’s jacket, right over the right side of his torso._

_“D-Don’t t-think so,” Seongwoo hisses out. With his attempt to speak, the sharp pain in his side throbs suddenly, and he winces, the fingers on the hand covering his wound curling and uncurling erratically. “M-Maybe j-just the r-rib--”_

_“Shut up,” Jihoon growls, and Seongwoo immediately gasps, his face contorting into a frown. Even though he’s in the process of bleeding his life out, it still seems that his ego hasn’t fallen down the priorities list. “God,” Jihoon mutters, biting on his lower lip as his eyebrows knit together in both worry and frustration, “who did this to you?” His fists grab onto Seongwoo’s jacket, tugging down the zipper and pushing the cloth aside._

_“A-Am I e-even allowed t--” Seongwoo snarkily hisses out, his voice mostly breath._

_“Just stay quiet,” Jihoon interrupts, and at hearing his words, Seongwoo’s head falls back as he sucks in a deep breath loud enough for Jihoon to hear. His eyes are blown wide with pain, and he grunts as there’s an ugly sound of ripping cloth when Jihoon forcefully tears apart his shirt._

_“W-What’re you--”_

_“What did I just tell you? Stay quiet.”_

_Based upon the way his nose and lips scrunch up, Seongwoo’s clearly itching to protest, but his words become lost into a choked mess of mumbled syllables when Jihoon unscrews the flask he had on him and pours the water down onto the wide gash that spans from right underneath Seongwoo’s armpit to just below his right pec._

_“Oh my god, oh my god, holy fuck--” he groans as the liquid seeps down his wound, mingling with the crying crimson and dripping down his already smeared black and red skin._

_Gripping onto the hem of his own shirt with his left hand, Jihoon curls the fingers of his right hand around the cloth, and with terrifying strength, he forcefully tugs. There’s another screeching rip of cloth slicing through the air as his shirt tears._

_“What in the world--” Seongwoo begins, and his eyes widen even more as he watches Jihoon. He tries to shift position and stop the angel, but the pain in his side stabs him again, and more sweat drips down his temples as his face becomes even paler._

_“Shut up!” Jihoon growls, and when he glares at Seongwoo, Seongwoo himself becomes a little bit panicked, because Jihoon appears to have flown into a rage, if anything. He gulps, biting on his lip._

_When Jihoon speaks again, his voice is so much quieter, almost a whisper, and much less angry -- it’s like he’s retracted his emotions into some other state, and Seongwoo becomes even more worried at the sudden change of mood. “You’ll be okay,” Jihoon murmurs, staring down at his trembling hands as he loops a length of cloth around Seongwoo’s torso, “you’ll be okay, you’ll be just fine--”_

_“Stop,” Seongwoo protests, “s-stop, you’re not supposed--”_

_“Do you want to fucking die?” Jihoon interrupts, throwing his head up and glaring at Seongwoo. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”_

_Seongwoo closes his mouth and swallows. At this point, dying is one of his least worries. Should he say yes, and risk throwing Jihoon further into a fit of rage, or should he say no and lie through his teeth?_

_Jihoon doesn’t even give him a chance to respond. He just continues looping lengths of cloth he’s torn from his own shirt around Seongwoo’s torso, pressing his palms right over the gash and watching the cotton bloom a dark red. Blood soaks through easily, and soon Jihoon’s own hands are stained. It doesn’t look like he notices, because he’s mumbling incomprehensible things to himself as he ties the makeshift bandage with shaky fingers._

_“G-Go wash your hands,” Seongwoo grits out, when Jihoon’s retracted his hands._

_Jihoon glosses right over his statement. “Do you really want to die?” he asks, leaning forward and pressing his palms against Seongwoo’s bare chest. The heat of his skin is startling at first because of the contrast of it compared to the cold air, but the warmth fizzes out to the rest of Seongwoo’s body, and it becomes comforting. Jihoon stares directly at him, eyes wide and slightly shiny and glazed. There’s no longer anger in his expression, but instead, it’s something like a combination of muted panic and slight terror. “Do you, Seongwoo?” His voice is hardly above a whisper._

_Seongwoo swallows again. His throat hurts, there’s no saliva left in his mouth, and his lips are dry and cracked. Jihoon’s stare is making him uncomfortable, but for a reason he’s unsure of._

_“You haven’t made a decision, huh?” Jihoon whispers, having picked up on Seongwoo’s uncertainty. “Or more like, you don’t know what to say because this is_ me _you’re talking to.”_

_Seongwoo purses his lips. “You’re supposed to want me to die,” he rasps out._

_Jihoon doesn’t even hear him. “If I say this, will you make a decision?”_

_“...W-What?”_

_“If_ I _don’t want you to die, then will you want to die yourself?” He leans in closer until the tips of their noses are brushing. Seongwoo can see his own reflection wavering in Jihoon’s pupils. One side of his face is smeared with blood, but the other side is unmarred, untouched, perfect._

_“Don’t die, Seongwoo. If you’re going to die, then at least don’t do it while I’m watching.”_

* * *

He’s already shuffling out of classroom even before the hour hand hits the twelve on the clock. The day’s been the most mundane so far, and Jihoon’s become lost in his own thoughts as the chatter of other students behind him floating around when he ambles down the hallway muddles into a buzzing background noise. The push plates to the door at the end of the hall are loud, and when he steps out of the building, he’s blasted in the face with sharp, biting wind. Woojin should be waiting for him in the courtyard. They’ll grab lunch together, Jihoon will walk home for a brief nap, then wake up an hour or so later. He’ll find a snack, throw it in his backpack, then trudge off back to his latter afternoon classes.

This is his routine. This is his every day for who knows how long it’s been -- Jihoon can’t even count the years, because to him, his memories are no longer in the forms of years and dates, but rather events that’ve happened. And in this way, he only remembers when he catches sight of a linking key that matches the locks to both his present and his past.

He walks with his head up to the horizon. Many of the people passing him are taller than him, but he looks over their heads with an ease. Their faces pass under his gaze as easily as a letter slides beneath the crack between a door and the carpet.

But that doesn’t mean that sometimes his senses will catch upon one of those linking keys. He spots the dyed bright pink hair of a girl walking past him, and he immediately remembers the time that Jaehwan ended up tumble-fighting with a demon in some thorn brush and came home with scratches all over his face. Daehwi had run out of regular bandages to paste all over the individual cuts, so he had to switch to using Hello Kitty bandaids that were the exact same shade of bright pink.

As he breezes by, the scent of fried noodles from a student’s styrofoam box floats past him. He remembers the first time he ate fried noodles, when the first modern Chinese restaurant opened up in the city. They went to eat at the urging of Jinyoung, and Jihoon’s friend’s favorite dish out of the many they ordered ended up being the fried noodles.

Jihoon flits his gaze down, staring at the cracked pavement he walks on. The wind blows by, threading strands of his hair across his eyes, and with clammy fingers he pulls them to the side of his face and attempts to tuck them behind his ear, only for them to escape the moment after. He’s almost at the courtyard -- he lifts his head and can clearly see the giant oak that sits in the middle of the clearing.

But he suddenly freezes in his step. The edges of his vision waver. Is he seeing things right? He can feel sweat beading at his temples.

The next moment, he takes off running. “Hey!” he shouts, his voice shrill and carried by the wind, “Hey! Wait!” Even despite the fact that his fingers are stiff and frozen, he still reaches out a hand into the biting cold, arm outstretched, trying to grasp the glimpse of the figure that flitted right across his vision.

His heart hurts, he can’t breathe, he’s sucking in painfully because the air is freezing his throat, but he’s still chasing after that figure. He doesn’t even realize he’s running or that there’re people looking at him oddly, wondering why he’s so panicked and why his face is so pale and bitten, or that there’s angry glances and sneers thrown at him because he nearly collides into bodies as he chases.

It’s because all that matters to him at that moment is finding and holding onto that figure, that linking key that unlocks the door to all the memories piled up high against the wood. And now, they’re spilling onto the carpet, crushing Jihoon underneath their weight, but all Jihoon wants to do at that moment is be suffocated by them.

That tell-tale corner of his jaw, black-brown hair, long frame and height, eyes that naturally squint with his normal expression, but widen when he wants them to -- Jihoon saw it all packaged together; and it can’t possibly _not_ be him, can it?

He screams, “Wait! Please!”

“Jihoon!” he hears, behind him, but it’s not the voice he’s looking for, so he disregards it. “Please!” he cries, again, but his feet are too slow and that figure slips out of his vision, absorbing into a crowd in the near distance, becoming one with the muddled mass of students whose heads Jihoon can no longer tell apart.

“Jihoon!” he hears again, as he collapses onto the pavement, braced on his hands and knees as he pants -- his whole world is gray, cold, wavering, and the warmth of Woojin’s hands on his face as his friend crouches in front of him and holds his cheeks in his palms goes unnoticed.

“Jihoon--” Woojin says, panicked, and he lifts up Jihoon’s head to look him in the eye. From a different angle, it would appear that they’re staring at each other, but from Woojin’s view, he knows that Jihoon’s not looking at him -- maybe his pupils are, but his actual self is glazed over, unfocused, staring at something in the distance. Maybe not the physical distance, but the emotional and mental distance, and Woojin just hopes his friend isn’t looking behind him.


	2. wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize this was supposed to be only 2 chapters but if you know me you also know that I write WAY more than I intend...  
> the finale chapter won't be as long as the previous two (so not 9-10k)... there's that lol

_“I hope you’re okay.”_

_“Yeah, I’m fine,” Seongwoo gruffly says, his voice muffled by his own tongue._

_Jihoon lolls his head back over the edge of the couch, an elbow of his bent and resting atop the edge. He squints his eyes up, and the blur of the golden lamps hanging above him clear into visible shapes -- he can see the bulbs: bright globes of fluorescence shining in front of his eyes ominously. “Does it hurt still?” he asks._

_“Barely,” Seongwoo sighs, voice hushed. “You know, they asked me where the bandage came from.”_

_Jihoon raises an eyebrow lazily. “An angel gave it to you,” he jokes, a teasingly bitter smile on his lips. “An angel gave it to you as a blessing.”_

_Seongwoo snorts and begins to laugh. The room is void of noise except for his voice, and the bare wood walls seem to shake and resound. Jihoon closes his eyes, and all his senses except for his hearing fade out for a moment._

_“Me? Blessed?” Seongwoo cackles, and Jihoon idly rolls his head over so that his cheek is pressed against the couch and he’s able to stare at the demon sitting next to him. “You aren’t going to ask what I told them?”_

_“Shoot, then.”_

_“Killed a human and made it myself from their clothing.”_

_“_ Yourself _?” Jihoon exclaims, and when he sees Seongwoo crack a grin at him, he loses his control and starts laughing, throwing his head back so he sees the ceiling once again. “How dumb are they? I mean, no offense to your friends, but I’ve never heard of anyone being stabbed in the rib and still being able to bandage themselves.”_

_Seongwoo shrugs. “I’m the hardheaded asshole of the group, apparently,” he quips. “One of them said that if any of us had the will to do it, it’d probably be me.”_

_“_ You _? ‘Asshole’? Incredulous,” Jihoon jokes. He lifts his head and stares Seongwoo in the eye. “But very true.”_

_Seongwoo snorts. He looks offended for a moment, but that expression quickly fades out into one that’s somehow a little mocking, except Jihoon isn’t sure who he’s mocking. “If I’m an asshole, why do you still hang around me?”_

_“My best friend and partner is an asshole.” Jihoon shrugs casually. Woojin definitely is an asshole, but a special type of asshole that isn’t asshole-y until you get to know him very well. “I guess I just attract assholes.” He grins._

_“‘Attract’?” Seongwoo raises an eyebrow. He leans forward, uncorking the half-empty bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table before raising it up to his lips, tilting his head back, and gulping some of the crimson liquid down. Jihoon watches him silently, and when Seongwoo sets the bottle back down on the table, he wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and sighs. “Aaaaah,” he goes, “refreshing.”_

_“Need the alcohol in order to deal with me?” Jihoon quirks his lips up in a coy smile._

_“Nah, more like the opposite,” Seongwoo hums contentedly. He slouches back against the couch and stares at his knees with his gaze half-lidded as he traces a pattern on his thigh with an index finger. “But the alcohol definitely makes things easier.”_

_“Judgement inhibition, huh?” Jihoon murmurs. He absentmindedly waves the fingers on the hand that’s propped up on the edge of the couch. “You do things that you normally wouldn’t, but they’re things that’re always lingering the back of your conscious. You always wonder if you should or should not do them, but when you’re awake and alert, you always think to yourself that you shouldn’t. Yet, the question of ‘what if?’ is always there.”_

_“What do you take me for? A lightweight?” Seongwoo scoffs. He sounds like he’s been insulted, but Jihoon knows he’s just joking by the expression on his face. “I can’t get drunk on a bottle of wine.”_

_“Maybe not drunk.” Jihoon shrugs. “But even a little bit of alcohol can change anyone’s thinking. Your internal dialogue is going to be different even with just a sip.”_

_“That--” Seongwoo begins, and he leans forward, grabbing the bottle by the neck again before taking a swig. He gestures at Jihoon with the bottle. “--is true. Is that also why you haven’t drank anything?”_

_Jihoon shakes his head and sighs. “Nah,” he murmurs, glancing up at the golden lights above him, “I just haven’t had the desire so far.”_

_“Then, if I offered you some, would you have the desire?” Seongwoo asks._

_“Try me.”_

_So Seongwoo turns his body and leans forward towards Jihoon. His chest presses up against Jihoon’s shoulder as he brings the bottle’s closure to the angel’s lips. The touch of the bronzed glass is a little bit chilly against Jihoon’s skin, but he nonetheless lets his head fall back as the remaining wine inside the bottle pours easily down his throat. The taste is much more bitter than sweet, although the mildness of fermented fruit is still there -- it is clearly made with a higher than typical alcohol content, and Jihoon curls his lips up into a smile around the glass as he swallows._

_When the last drop of wine slides down his throat, Seongwoo brings the bottle down. Jihoon sighs, closing his eyes and resting his head once again atop the edge of the couch._

_“That was easy,” Seongwoo comments. “Feeling your judgement being inhibited now?”_

_“Mmm, don’t know,” Jihoon hums. He feels Seongwoo’s weight on the couch shift. There’s his hot breath grazing across the side of Jihoon’s neck, and with Jihoon's head thrown up, it’s easy for Seongwoo to press his lips right beneath the corner of his jaw, where the junction of his neck and face is._

_“How about now?” Jihoon can feel Seongwoo’s lips forming the words against his skin. The vision behind his closed eyes is golden from the lights hanging above his head._

_“Mmm, don’t know.”_

_There’s ghosts of breath that slither their way up his cheek, and the press of roughened warmth on his cheekbone is oddly comforting. “Now?”_

_“Don’t know.”_

_The bitter scent of alcohol intermixed with the sickly sweet smell of fermented grape invades his senses. If a scent could be described as torrid, then Jihoon thinks it would quite fit this scent. There’s Seongwoo’s breath billowing over his lips right then, and he can practically taste the amount of alcohol that the demon’s drank so far -- Jihoon himself feels his conscious slip into a state of numbing comfort and ignorance, yet he’s not sure if it’s because of the small amount of wine he drank or if it’s because of Seongwoo’s intoxication._

_“Now?”_

_Their smiles are together, and it’s like Seongwoo’s forcefully telling Jihoon’s lips to give him the answer he wants, even though Seongwoo himself is preventing that answer from coming out. It’s not like Jihoon needs to speak, anyways -- he just opens his mouth with that coy smile still waltzing on his lips, and Seongwoo eagerly takes that opportunity to slip in his tongue._

_The taste of wine and the choking scent of alcohol as they kiss makes Jihoon feel like he’s drowning, but somehow he’s comfortable with that. His chin falls back down, and his fists come up to curl over the collar of Seongwoo’s shirt, holding him there easily as Seongwoo’s palm rests on the side of Jihoon’s neck, a thumb stroking over the dip of his throat._

_When they pull apart, their faces are still right up against each other. The air they share is the same, a reassuring kind of hot and sticky bubble that envelops them both in the same conscious and aura, and Jihoon is the one to tug Seongwoo that one centimeter closer several seconds later and meet their lips again._

* * *

“Jihoon, what the fuck happened today?” Woojin asks, standing in front of his friend with his arms crossed.

“I-I don’t know…” Jihoon stutters, looking away.

“You ‘don’t know’? Jihoon, it’s not normal behavior for you to randomly take off running and yell, ‘Wait! Please!’” Woojin replies with a sigh. He sinks down onto the couch next to his friend, rubbing his face with his palms. He’s clearly exhausted, although Jihoon doesn’t know why.

“Am I crazy or mentally ill?” Jihoon suddenly asks.

“...What?” Woojin murmurs, lifting his head up from his hands. He frowns. “The hell you mean by that? Jihoon, if you were either we’d have had problems a looooooong time ago.”

“So I’m not crazy or mentally ill,” is Jihoon’s flat statement.

“No?”

“Then Woojin… just, when I say this, I really don’t know.”

“Just tell me.” Woojin’s brows furrow in worry, and when Jihoon tilts his head down and stares at his hands laced together in his lap, Woojin wraps one of his own palms around Jihoon’s wrist in an act of reassurance.

“I swear, I saw _him_ walking today.”

“‘Him’?” Woojin begins. He swallows uncomfortably. “You mean…”

Jihoon nods. “Yeah,” he replies, his voice hushed.

“That’s not possible, Jihoon,” Woojin states, softly. His grip around Jihoon’s wrist becomes firmer. “He’s dead, and he’s been so for a long time.”

“I k-know,” Jihoon murmurs, “I know, Woojin. That’s why I asked you if I was crazy or mentally ill. The guy I saw looked so much like him that I-- I got terrified for a moment and then started running. I thought it had to be him, but now -- really, was I just seeing things?”

“Maybe not,” Woojin hums comfortingly. He leans forward and turns his head, pressing his cheek against Jihoon’s hair. “You probably just saw someone that looked like him, that’s all. I’m sure that’s it.”

Jihoon turns away. “I hope…” And at that moment, he’s not sure if he believes his own words. There’s that tugging in his heart whenever the vision of that figure flashes in front of his eyes, and his toes twitch with the urge to run up to them and hold their hand.

But it’s nothing more than a vision, he knows, and yet no matter how many times he’s told himself that day, no matter how many times he’s telling himself now, his heart doesn’t tell him it’s merely a vision, and he’s not sure if it’s because his heart is right or it’s simply wishing.

* * *

_“You’ve been awfully busy recently,” Jinyoung comments, as he’s wiping his hands on the hand towel. He loops the towel back over the handle to the oven before turning around and reaching up to open the cupboard above him. “I know you love the thrill of the fight, but won’t you stay in tonight? Daehwi and I are going to cook Chinese food. And we also would really appreciate a helping hand.”_

_“Nah,” Jihoon hums, rolling his shoulders. “I’ve got demons to kill. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I haven’t gotten badly injured since my wrist got burned.”_

_Jinyoung frowns. “I’m not worried about you getting injured,” he states, “I just want you to stay behind and eat dinner with the rest of us for once. Even Woojin, who loves fighting probably as much as you do, doesn’t go out as often, and he’s your partner.”_

_Jihoon shrugs. “Like I told you, I’ve got things to do,” he reiterates pointedly, tone impatient. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll be back earlier tonight, okay? Save some dinner for me. You know I like fried noodles too. Maybe we can all watch a movie together later.”_

_Jinyoung sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “Fine,” he mutters, waving a hand, “go have fun.”_ _  
_ _Jihoon shoots him two thumbs up before he grabs his jacket lying on the countertop and bounds to the doorway. He opens the door and slams it behind him quickly. Jinyoung watches him go, his arms crossed._

_Daehwi quietly slides up to his side the moment after, staring at the doorway where Jihoon’s just disappeared. “He’s hiding something,” he states._

_“You think so?” Jinyoung asks, frowning._

_“Jihoon-hyung isn’t very smart,” Daehwi hums, crossing his arms too. He sticks out his lips._

_“What in the world does that have to with anything?” Jinyoung glances at his friend oddly._

_“You know how he mentioned that he hasn’t gotten badly injured ever since his arm got burned? That wasn’t a good idea on his part.”_

_“How?”_

_“That reminded me of how he sometimes comes home with the scent of a demon all over him, except he’s not injured in any way, shape, or form. Haven’t you noticed?”_

_“...Oh,” Jinyoung murmurs. He’s still staring at the doorway, and if he squints hard enough, he can barely see Jihoon’s figure bounding out of the house with his jacket gripped in one hand, wings doing small flaps behind his back. “Yeah, you’re right.”_

_“I wonder what he’s hiding,” Daehwi mumbles._

_“Well, if you’re right about Jihoon-hyung not being very smart, then we won’t have to wait long until one of us figures it out, right?” Jinyoung replies. “Or he just drops the bomb himself.”_

_“Don’t talk about bombs, please,” Daehwi pleads, one eye squinting as he winces. “I don’t want to remember the mess I had to help clean up during the last World War.”_

_“Sorry,” Jinyoung murmurs as he reached up a hand to run his fingers through Daehwi's hair. “I hope hyung isn't getting himself into any trouble.”_

_“I think he'll be fine,” Daehwi reassures, glancing at Jinyoung. “Jihoon-hyung can be brash sometimes, but… there's a reason why the rest of us, even Jaehwan-hyung, respect him and Woojin-hyung.”_

_Jinyoung nods slowly at Daehwi's words. He turns around, arms crossed, and stares at the evening's work ahead of him._

* * *

“I thought he’d forgotten,” Woojin states, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. Jinyoung, sitting at his desk next to the window, doesn’t even look up. He simply frowns, his eyebrows knitting together as he pens down another character in his notebook.

“You _thought_?” he responds. “How could he forget, hyung?”

Woojin sighs, his head hanging down. He ambles into the room and takes a seat atop Jinyoung’s bed, the mattress frame creaking with the dip in his weight. “Stupid of me, right?” he murmurs. “Sorry, you know I’m kind of dumb when it comes to reading emotions and memories.”

Jinyoung huffs, the whispers of a smile appearing on his lips. He continues writing as he speaks to Woojin, and Woojin silently wonders how his friend is able to do that without losing concentration. “I mean, I wouldn’t necessarily call it ‘stupid’. We’re not created to fall in love, so that means that things could go either direction. We could forget our first love--it disappears in the dust of our lives, and we leave it behind with nothing to carry in our hands--or it could haunt us forever, until the day we either decide to die or death decides to have us die.”

“You’re beginning to sound like Daehwi,” Woojin notes, frowning teasingly, “don’t hang around him too much, or else soon you’ll be speaking in riddles and second meanings as well.”

Jinyoung rolls his eyes at Woojin’s comment. “I’ve been hanging around him for several centuries, hyung, and so have you. Your head just isn’t wired to pick up his language.”

Woojin pretends to take that in offense, but in reality, he knows that he and Jinyoung are quite different in that aspect. Maybe Woojin and Jihoon are two peas in a pod when it comes to their friendship, their bond, their lifetimes, and their teamwork, but Woojin will never come to understand Jihoon in the way that Jinyoung has, and vice versa -- Jinyoung will never come to understand Jihoon’s admiration for the rush of the brawl, the flying of a blade, the whisper of close contact; or maybe, once upon a time, that _was_ Jihoon, and Jinyoung understands him more than he realizes at this moment.

“You’ve never fallen in love, have you, hyung?”

Woojin shakes his head. “Unless you count my blades, no.”

Jinyoung laughs softly. “You?” Woojin asks.

“Not quite like Jihoon-hyung has,” Jinyoung hums, “but I love you. I love Daehwi. I love Jihoon-hyung. I love Jaehwan-hyung. I think I love Guanlin as well.”

“That’s different,” Woojin points out. He shifts his position, propping an elbow up on his knee and leaning his chin on his palm.

“You’re right it’s different, but it’s not _that_ different,” Jinyoung explains. “If any of you guys suddenly upped and left me, or _died_ , I’d think I’d end up in a state like Jihoon-hyung as well.” The air between his back and the chair’s backing shimmers slightly, and for a moment, Woojin can spot the outline of a translucent pair of wings. There’s the quiet ruffle of feathers for a second. “And, how could I _not_ fly?”

“...Valid,” Woojin murmurs, after a long pause. He sighs, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment. “What’re we going to do? It’s not like we can bar him from going to school.”

For the first time in their conversation, Jinyoung looks at him. “Well, before you decide on that, hyung, the first question is if Jihoon-hyung was seeing things, or there was an _actual_ person that looked like _him._ ”

“If he were seeing things, then why in the world would he choose to see them _now_? It’s been so long,” Woojin states. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“Hmm,” Jinyoung hums, turning back to his notebook. He closes the book, setting down his pen before lifting his head and staring out the window. There’s nothing out there but a lone oak, all bare, knotted, withered, and a sparkling white frost coats the tips of its branches. “Do you believe in reincarnation, hyung?”

“No,” Woojin immediately replies, “that’s black magic.”

“Fair enough,” Jinyoung murmurs. “I guess if reincarnation did exist, then God would be playing with us, wouldn’t he?”

“Or Mammon,” Woojin offhandedly states.

Jinyoung laughs softly. Once his breath has calmed, he adds, “Well, for now, I think we should just let Jihoon-hyung do whatever he wants. Tell me if something similar happens again.”

“Yeah, of course,” Woojin replies, “thanks.”

Jinyoung smiles to the oak outside the window. “No problem,” he says.

* * *

_“What’s going on?” Jinyoung asks, as he sits down next to Jihoon at the foot of the couch._

_“Whadya mean?” Jihoon replies through a mouthful of popcorn._

_“You’re really agitated about going out at night,” Jinyoung points out. “There’s nothing bad going on, right?”_

_“Well, no,” Jihoon hums nonchalantly, shoving another handful of popcorn in his mouth. “There isn’t, Jinyoung. I’ve always liked fighting, you know that.”_

_“Yeah but,” Jinyoung begins, and he almost stops talking, because the annoyed glance Jihoon shoots at him makes him slightly uncomfortable for treading further with his questions. “You hardly ever come back injured. If you do, it’s just a few scratches or minor wounds.”_

_Jihoon shrugs. “Maybe I’ve just got a lucky streak,” he reasons, “and besides, why are you worried about that? If I’m not getting injured, then Daehwi has less to do, and therefore so do you.”_

_“...If you say so,” Jinyoung murmurs after a second. He shifts his position, leaning his back and head against the couch before reaching into Jihoon’s bowl of popcorn. To Jihoon, he’s appeared to stopped his questioning, having been satisfied with the answers he’s received, but to Jinyoung himself, there’s still that crawling at the back of his mind, an edge of warning that tells him there’s more to the story than Jihoon is willing to spill. Daehwi’s observation comes back to his thoughts at that moment, and he glances at Jihoon out of the corner of his eye. His friend is chewing animatedly, staring directly at the TV screen in front of him, and Jinyoung just prays Jihoon isn’t getting himself into the depths of trouble deeper than he can climb out._

* * *

Today, Jihoon is early.

He sits on the bench at the base of the oak, his backpack at his feet, and he stares straight ahead. The wind this day is still bitter and biting. The air is still gray, and Jihoon’s hands are clammy even though they’re forcefully shoved into the pockets of his windbreaker, gripping onto the polyester lining with unnecessary strength. Woojin told him that he should just ignore it -- rather, he _must_ ignore it. But it’s easy for Woojin to say, and both he and Jihoon know that, because there’s only so much an expression, words, the subtlest of actions, and a whisper of a breath can convey the rushing that Jihoon had felt at that moment, where the edges of his vision were fading, focusing in one that figure he saw in the distance--

And not to even mention the thrashing of his heart, as if it were stretching and pressing against his ribcage with the desperation to escape the confines of his chest and attach onto its wish that only exists outside its realm.

Woojin doesn’t know how it feels to long. He doesn’t know how it feels to live in the same universe that’s split into two completely different dimensions, because his purpose for life has always been solid, objective, singular, and maybe Jihoon was the same once upon a time.

Jihoon’s eyes are unfocused, just like last time, except this time, his eyes aren’t staring directly into his own head. His sight is taking in everything around him. There’s nothing he’s particularly fixated on, but if he tries hard enough, his memories come back to him. That door has long been opened and unlocked, and now he’s sorting through the pieces that’ve fallen atop him one by one. You would think that they’re painful to even look at, let alone touch, and Jihoon thinks that too; but to him, he doesn’t know if he’s in pain, or that feeling has dulled over so many years that it’s ended up rotted into something called remorse.

He didn’t even care for pursuing mundane human achievements such as degrees and acknowledgements, but he once stood where he sits now, before the oak even became an oak, and stared out into the chilly air. There was nothing on his arms but his bare skin, and the skin rose and textured with the teeth of the wind, but it was smoothed over with a hand on his shoulder. There was not enough heat to burn him, and there never would be, he was sure of that. “You’re serious about this,” he remembers himself saying, and it rings so clearly in his head now, _his_ response -- “Yeah.”

He’d never sought out to live the life of a human. The objective of an angel is not to be the guardian for the mortals living below their wings, Jihoon thought, and it was never understood to be this way by anyone besides those mortals themselves -- they were two different beings occupying the same battlefield, and the meddling of their paths was unnecessary as one could never provide any asset for the other.

He could never understand why the answer he received was so simple and exact, and a part of him regrets never understanding, because now, when he understands too much, it’s still not enough to make up for that sorrow.

That part of him is looking ahead, both physically and mentally, hoping that he sees that figure again, so he can catch him in his hands, press him against his cheek, and tell him an apology for every single regret he’s had each day of the life he’s lived so far. Consciously, he is aware that it’s a futile desire, but in his subconscious lives a sliver of hope that promises him his wishes will be granted one day -- that he must merely wait. It’s gone from sitting around the campfire, warming its hands from the heat of the fire of his heart, to building its own little home in his chest, a quaint building with red brick and mortar that will never collapse no matter how violent the earthquake in his soul becomes. It peeks its head out the window, steps outside the door, flickers on the lights at the entrance at the times it’s needed both least and most.

At that moment, he thinks he sees that figure again -- _thinks._ He rubs his eyes, because he’s not sure if he’s simply seeing things, dreaming, crying, wishing, or a combination of all four. But when his vision clears, _he’s_ still there, and Jihoon’s limbs are twitching with the haste to run, but in a split second, there’s Woojin’s palms covering his eyes--

“I’m here, Jihoon,” he says, softly, “I hope you’ve had a good day so far.”

* * *

_“Still though,” Jihoon begins, drawing a circle animatedly on Seongwoo’s shoulder with his index finger, “I know I asked you this before, but I still want to know why you don’t hate me. Or, more specifically, why you don’t hate humans, because you're supposed to hate them too. I’ve never met a demon that doesn’t like harming humans.”_

_There’s the soft rustle from the cotton of the pillowcase as Seongwoo shifts the position of his head. “I wouldn’t necessarily say I dislike it,” he states, “rather, I just find it useless. What’s the purpose of me being here if that’s literally all I’m supposed to do? And for no proper reason either.”_

_“So you’re all for justice, huh?” Jihoon hums, with a breathy laugh. He moves his hand, fingers now stroking through Seongwoo’s hair. “How considerate of you. Unexpected, yet not.”_

_Seongwoo smirks. “‘Considerate’? I’m only being logical,” he replies. There’s a pause before he adds, “but thanks for not saying I’m stupid for thinking like that.”_

_“Would never think you’re stupid over something like that,” Jihoon murmurs, his voice slightly mumbled at the corners._

_“And you,” Seongwoo begins, turning his head so that he stares directly at Jihoon’s half-lidded eyes, “it’s basically in your blood to hate me. You’re the one that’s supposed to feel justice -- the one that’s supposed to avenge the wrongdoings of my kind.”_

_Jihoon’s gaze flits downwards, the movement of his fingers through Seongwoo’s hair pausing. “Like you,” he begins, quietly, “I don’t feel any purpose for it. Why am I supposed to care for what happens to humans? They’ve done nothing for me, and I’m not one either.”_

_“Hmmm,” Seongwoo hums, “that’s true. You’re right about that.”_

_“See?” Jihoon says. “If I think this way, then I would be a hypocrite if I were to call you ‘stupid’.”_

_“But also, blood,” Seongwoo points out, and Jihoon frowns. “You and I have been bred to be aggressive around each other. We’re more different than an angel and a human or a demon and a human. This kind of division has been widening for eons.” Jihoon looks him in the eye. He remains silent, almost emotionless. “I don’t know, don’t you feel… odd about this?”_

_“...You mean ‘wrong’?” Jihoon offers hesitantly._

_Seongwoo sighs. “I don’t want to call it ‘wrong’,” he mutters, “it’s just… strange.”_

_At that moment, Jinyoung’s worries come back into Jihoon’s mind. There’s a nervous fluttering in his stomach, as if he were about to open a fortune that would dictate where his decision would lead him. His lips twitch, as if he were about to mention the fact that his friends have noticed his odd movements. Jinyoung isn’t dumb, but he’s certainly not the smartest out of the bunch -- if he’d picked up suspicion, then who else would have by now as well?_

_But Seongwoo interrupts his thoughts. “We’re two completely opposite ends of the spectrum.” He says that as if it were simply nothing but a statement. There’s no regretful, angry, frustrated, or insulting connotation to his words, and in that moment, Jihoon understands that he’s glossing over that fact, and that he’s telling Jihoon that he should gloss over it too._

_Jihoon sighs, turning over, and there’s the rustle of sheets as he moves. He buries three quarters of his face into the pillow, letting his eyelids fall until he sees nothing but faint white and black, blurred by his eyelashes. There’s silence for several seconds, but the next moment, he feels Seongwoo’s weight behind his back shift, and the bed frame creaks slightly._

_“Hey,” Seongwoo whispers. He places his chin gently on the side of Jihoon’s torso. Jihoon turns his head, staring over at the demon._

_“What?” he murmurs._

_“Your wings are in the way,” Seongwoo states. He places a careful hand on a mass of white feathers. Jihoon can’t really feel Seongwoo’s palm, but his wings instinctively twitch. At that moment, the angel watches their tiny movements, and all of a sudden there’s a spark of frustration and annoyance in his chest at seeing the part of his body that’s been attached to himself for so long existing and reacting to Seongwoo’s touch._

_“Face me,” Seongwoo says, his voice coaxing, but to his surprise, Jihoon suddenly sits up and fiercely pushes him onto his back with palms placed on his chest, effectively catching him off guard. “What--”_

_Jihoon easily balances his weight atop Seongwoo, his hands splayed, flat, warm against Seongwoo’s skin. He leans down, close enough so that the airspace the two share is the same, and he stares at his own reflection in Seongwoo’s pupils. “I’m an angel, right?” he whispers. “I’m an angel, and I’m vastly different from you.”_

_“J-Jihoon--” Seongwoo begins, his voice hushed, eyes widened, but Jihoon doesn’t let him continue._

_“I’m an angel, and my wings get in the way.”_

_“What are you trying to imply?” Seongwoo asks, frowning._

_“Then,” Jihoon begins, and he’s suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of wishful regret, washing over his previous annoyance and frustration, soothing the red and replacing it with a burning blue. He tilts the position of his head, and his breath is now warm at Seongwoo’s cheek, the soft press of a pair of lips against skin apparent. “Let me be either a human or a demon for tonight.”_

_Before Seongwoo is able to speak, he sees the wavering of air over Jihoon’s shoulder. There’s a subtle iridescent shimmer on the form and outline of the white feathers that he’s gotten so accustomed to seeing, and it’s moments before they begin to fade, as if the shimmer were eating them up. A second later, they’re gone, wings vanished into thin air as if they’d never existed in the first place._

_“What did you just do--” Seongwoo begins._

_“Let me,” Jihoon interrupts, and he lifts his head up, blinking slowly as their gazes connect. “Please.”_

_“Oh-- okay,” Seongwoo whispers, eyes still slightly widened, but they quickly revert back to a state of drowsed rhapsody as Jihoon presses their foreheads together, the breaths that he gives Seongwoo all in the forms of wishes and promises._

_When he wakes up in the middle of the night, his limbs tangled with the sheets and Seongwoo pressed into the crook of his neck, he turns away and sits up, staring at the table beside him. There, in the black of the room, even though there is no light, he can see the glow of his dagger, and Seongwoo does not wake up, even from sensing the shift of weight atop the mattress, until the acrid scent of blood hits his senses. He’s sent reeling out of bed, and he forcefully wraps his fingers around Jihoon’s wrist and wrenches his arm closer to his face. “What the hell,” he growls, and Jihoon stares back at him with a look of determined defiance._

_The blood seeping out of the long gash atop Jihoon’s forearm drips down Seongwoo’s fingers, and even though the room is pitch dark, he can still see the faintest of red staining his hand. It’s a beautiful, rich, plush scarlet, an entirely different kind of wealth from Seongwoo’s own dark crimson running beneath his skin._

* * *

It is an obsessive impulse from him, and he knows that. He stands next to the oak, his hands tucked in his pockets, right around the time he and Woojin would meet to get lunch together. But he mentally apologizes to his friend, and wishes that he won’t end up hurting him or himself.

The first step is always the most difficult. It is after that that your path becomes easier, and soon your feet will become nothing but the softest of treads atop a cloud of air, and Jihoon quickly becomes dizzy, as if he were walking on a cloud.

That memory of his is ingrained sharply in his mind, as if it were forcefully carved there with a fist and a pick. He doesn’t even need to think as his feet lead him to that specific spot in his head. It’s almost terrifying how exact his senses are, because he stops in the middle of the courtyard, standing there on the pavement with no particular purpose and no particular awareness except for a singular thought in his mind, one that grounds his feet and insists he must wait.

The students all walk around him. They disregard him, although there are a select few that wonder why he’s just standing there, stock-still, staring straight ahead as if someone paused and unpaused time, yet he somehow got lost in the fabric of that moment, and he’s now forever frozen there.

In his head, he counts. One-two-three-four-five, three sets of five and fifteen seconds have passed. How long until _he_ would walk by here? Jihoon wants to close his eyes and take a deep breath to calm the nerves in his body and the throbbing of his heartbeat, but he also doesn’t want to miss any chance of a glimpse. Maybe Woojin would be there at the oak now, wondering if Jihoon was late or if he was simply early. There’s a little bit of guilt inside Jihoon’s conscious, because he feels like he’s betraying Woojin, even though he isn’t. He’s simply making a decision that he knows will likely end up dissatisfying for both himself and his friend, but sometimes logic doesn’t transcend the heart.

He swivels his head, taking in his peers around him, looking at their faces and profiles and bodies and the way they walk. It may seem like a lot to take in, but in the shortest of a split second he can distinguish that manifested wish in his vision apart from the other forms that seem to skirt around him, as if his eternal aura were too dangerous and volatile to the touch.

And all of a sudden, he sees what he’s searching for flit across his gaze, appearing from the edge of his vision, briefly brushing against his shoulder and walking away with his back to him -- Jihoon’s only seen his back, but even then it’s enough of an indication of _who_ he is. He is so starstruck that he’s quite literally frozen in place for a second or two as his body attempts to catch speed to the desperate wailing in his head. But the next moment, he takes off running and nearly trips, the corners of his vision wavering and blurred as if his ability to see around him were melting off, zoning in on the image of _him_ straight ahead: a view, an object, a desire that has become tangible and _real._

“W-Wait!” he shouts, his voice slightly weak and raspy at the corners. His palms are sweating even more than they were before, and the cold wind brushing across his damp skin makes his fingers even more stiff and chilly, but he still outstretches a hand and reaches. “Hey!” he cries, and he’s only a few strides away from _him._

He turns around, and Jihoon nearly chokes -- it really _is_ him, there’s no way he can be imagining this. Everything seems so real besides his feet, because he still feels like he’s running atop a cloud, and his head and vision are both a little bit dizzy. The surprise in _his_ face is eerily canny to the expression of surprise Jihoon once saw him adorn so long ago: the first time they met, the first time Jihoon lowered his blade, the first time he let him crawl into that little space in his heart and make himself comfortable.

“I--” Jihoon stutters out. His voice becomes throttled; he can’t speak, and he’s left standing there and gaping, the bite of the chilly air making his throat drier and more painful than ever. His knees are weak, and the uncomfortable clamminess from the sweat slicking his palms and the back of his neck against the wind is forgotten, lost amongst the other sensations he’s experiencing in that second.

“What?” _he_ asks, and Jihoon feels his heart drop into his stomach. It’s the same voice that he’s always remembered and treasured in his head; a voice he hasn’t heard for so long even though it sometimes sings him songs in his sleep. His nightmares and dreams are memories, ones that he holds precious to himself, and here is one of them manifested right beneath his nose, yet somehow it is untouchable. He can barely consciously ask himself if he is dreaming before _he_ turns back around at Jihoon’s silence and begins to walk away. Jihoon’s frame is frozen, brittle, withered just like the thin branches at the very tops of that oak, and once that figure has faded into the distance, he finally realizes how weak his joints are, and at the first step backwards he takes, his knees give way under him.

The pavement is cold, but it is nothing close to the chill he feels running up and down his spine, as if he were staring both his biggest desire and scariest nightmare directly in the eyes.

* * *

_“You_ reek, _” Guanlin blurts out, when Jihoon steps through the doorway. One half of his jacket isn’t even on his body -- it’s just hanging off of his frame, as if it were a piece of cloth poorly draped over a trophy. Only one part of his wings are visible, the other half wavering in the air like a heat wave. Jihoon hasn’t even got the full amount of mind to consciously fade both sides of the set nor see the rest of his friends peering around the hallway even though it is quite well into the middle of the night._

_Daehwi worriedly scuttles up to him. “Hyung,” he whispers, holding onto Jihoon’s shoulders and knitting his eyebrows together, “are you okay?”_

_“Yeah,” Jihoon replies, with a sniff. He rubs his hand on his face. “Just tired, that’s all.” It’s then that Daehwi notices the bloodied piece of linen wrapped around his friend’s arm, and he gasps._

_“Oh my god,” Jihoon hears Jaehwan murmur, and then a moment later, there’s Woojin’s comforting voice going, “Don’t move, hyung. Let Daehwi talk to him.”_

_“Hyung,” Daehwi whispers, gently wrapping his fingers around Jihoon’s wrist and cradling his arm in his hands, “what’s this?” Sure, all of the angels in the room (with the exception of Guanlin) have been injured to degrees much more severe than a slice in the arm, but none of them would ever stay out for hours on end and attempt to bandage themselves -- they always stuck together in groups or near one another, and on the occasion one went out alone, it was a silent promise they’d make to the healer that they’d return home the instant they’d receive a more than minor injury._

_“Got stabbed in the arm,” Jihoon replies nonchalantly, “what else?” He attempts to look casually confused, but Daehwi thinks that his expression just makes him appear even more exhausted than he already was._

_“Why didn’t you come home earlier?” Daehwi asks. There’s now an edge in his voice, which is rare for him, as he always attempted to calm conflict instead of create it._

_“I had something to do,” Jihoon says, huffing, “and now I’m tired, so can I please go to bed?”_

_“Hyung, this isn’t something that you can brush off with just ‘I had something to do’,” Daehwi states, still gripping onto Jihoon’s arm. “We were all worried sick about you, and this is the excuse you give us?”_

_“Daehwi,” Jihoon begins, and the fingers on his uninjured arm curl inwards. Jinyoung, standing at the entrance to the hallway, notices the action, and he frowns. There’s the barest of a growl in Jihoon’s voice. “Just let me go sleep.” He wrenches away his arm, and there’s a stab of pain sent up his nerves, but he ignores it and begins to stalk away. The bloodied tatters on his makeshift bandage sway in the air with his movement._

_The rest of the angels gathered near the hall quickly part for him. “Hyung--” Jinyoung goes, reaching out to try to grab Jihoon’s shoulder, but the latter quickly dodges the attempt and continues down the hall._

_Woojin silently trails a few strides behind his friend. They share the same room. He won’t try to comfort Jihoon, but as Jihoon brushed past him, he noticed the bits of sleep crusted at the corners of his friend’s eyes. Jihoon_ does _appear tired, but he obviously_ was _sleeping before he got home -- the question is, where? Wherever it was, his sleep must’ve gotten interrupted as well if he’s so irritable to the extent of snapping at Daehwi._

_Daehwi returns to Jinyoung’s side, and they both watch Woojin and Jihoon’s receding backs. “There’s no way he’s not hiding something,” Daehwi whispers._

_Jinyoung nods slowly. “It’s got something to do with a demon,” Daehwi adds, “or else why would he smell so bad?”_

_Jinyoung grabs Daehwi’s wrist, leading him farther away from the rest of the group. They sit down at the dining table, and Jinyoung props an elbow up on the table, resting his chin on his fist. “What do you think he’s up to?”_

_“Out all night, comes home with an injury that he tried to shakily patch up himself, and smells like Hell,” Daehwi thinks out loud, “you don’t suppose he’s trying to negotiate something, right?”_

_“With a demon?” Jinyoung asks, with a frown, “I don’t think so, as scent wouldn’t transfer that intensely unless he went in close contact with one. And, what does he have that a demon might want? Or what does a demon have that he might want?”_

_“Fair point,” Daehwi hums. His eyes flit around briefly, as if he were trying to make sure that none of their friends were listening in. “Hyung,” he whispers, leaning in closer to Jinyoung, “I’m about to suggest something, and I don’t want you to panic. It’s probably not likely, but it makes sense from what we know so far.”_

_Jinyoung takes a deep breath. “Go ahead,” he murmurs._

_“You don’t suppose he’s in love? With a demon?”_

_“...What?”_

_“Going out alone to see him every night. Coming back home in the middle of the dead hours smelling like him. Defensive about his whereabouts and his actions. It all reads like a forbidden relationship. The only thing that doesn’t make sense is how he managed to get that slash on his arm, but then again, couldn’t the demon have done that to him?”_

_“Daehwi…” Jinyoung begins, his voice hushed. At the moment, he’s unsure of what to think -- Daehwi’s arguably the most intelligent out of all of them, and his reasoning makes complete sense. The doubt Jinyoung feels is stemmed mostly from the heresy of the situation -- never in his entire life has he ever heard of an angel falling in love in the first place, let alone with a_ demon. _It’s not in either parties’ nature to do so. Jinyoung’s extensive study on the history of the universe has led him to the conclusion that maybe both angels and demons had somehow lost the ability to feel romantic love somewhere along their respective lineages. It’s just something that_ doesn’t _happen, except no one is sure if it’s a law of the universe or not, because then again no one ever talks or is told about it._

_“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Daehwi whispers. He stares at his hands resting atop the wooden table. “I hope he doesn’t get his heart broken.”_

_While Daehwi is the one hoping that Jihoon doesn’t get his heart broken, Jinyoung is the one worried about the potential consequences._

_Jihoon is going against his nature. Maybe his friends won’t think much of it because all of them here know him personally, but what will their peers think?_

_Most importantly, what will the archangels think?_

* * *

“He’s alive,” Jihoon says breathily, slamming his palms down on top of Woojin’s desk, startling the latter. “I saw him, Woojin, he’s alive, he’s real, he’s--”

“Woah,” Woojin interrupts, holding up his hands, his eyes widening into the size of saucers, “Jihoon… are you sure?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Jihoon cries, and he immediately clamps his palms over his lips. He slowly brings his hands down, staring at Woojin with an almost frenzied look in his eye. “I saw him again, I went up to him and he turned around and said something, and Woojin -- it _was_ him, they’ve got the same voices and everything--”

Woojin is unsure of what to say. There’s a part of him that thinks his friend is just seeing things, but he is also aware that Jihoon isn’t _that_ crazed -- or _is_ he, and nobody, not even Jihoon himself, knew about it? _That’s black magic,_ Woojin remembers, as the conversation he had with Jinyoung comes back into his mind. Then again, he isn’t aware of anything about the laws of the universe -- he knows nothing specific, only what he has been told and has seen firsthand for himself. Jinyoung’s specialty is knowledge, and even then he is disbelieving of the supernatural tendencies of religion. The concept of reincarnation is foreign to everyone, let alone the both of them, as it’s not something they are taught besides the fact that it _does not happen._ There is a certain code to the way the world creates, and that code is fragile, extensive, universal, but most importantly, _unique. Can anomalies exist?_ Woojin asks himself at that moment, because the look in Jihoon’s expression is so convincing of what he’s seen and what he _feels_ that Woojin senses a pang in his heart with the urge to wrap his arms around his main pillar of support for the past few centuries and tell him _it’s going to be okay._

They are angels. They are the beings closest to God, and yet they know nothing about the world and its workings. That second, Woojin feels like nothing but a mere human.

“Do you think he’d still love me?” Jihoon asks, shakily, his hands balling up into fists as he leans on them, peering over at Woojin, and his jaw trembles with his question.

“Jihoon,” Woojin begins, his mouth dry. He knows nothing about the concept of love, let alone the kind of deeply ingrained longing and sorrow Jihoon has in himself, and he fully admits this. But if Jihoon is in so much pain just from the sight of his first love, then Woojin thinks that that emotion is something that he needs to protect Jihoon from. “Come here.”

Jihoon doesn’t move -- is it because he can’t, or is it because he refuses to? Nonetheless, Woojin still stands up, reaching out his hands and putting them on Jihoon’s shoulders, and he pulls Jihoon closer to him over that table. “Don’t think about him,” he whispers, “don’t think about him. He’s not even the same person, Jihoon, he’s--”

And then it hits him. Reincarnation may not exist, for the code which the universe runs on is unique, but does that mean that two entities it generates cannot be _similar?_

Jihoon saw _him_ on campus.

“--he’s a human, Jihoon.”

* * *

_“Do you love me?”_

_“Why would I not?”_

_Jihoon jumps at Seongwoo’s response. He looks the demon up and down, and Seongwoo appears to be entirely serious even with his laid-back stance._

_“Why are you surprised?” Seongwoo asks._

_“...I’m… not…” Jihoon murmurs, looking away. “Have your friends said anything about why you’ve been going out a lot?”_

_“Mmm, yeah,” Seongwoo replies. He puts his feet up on the table, and folds his palms behind his head, leaning back casually._

_“And you don’t care?” Jihoon asks incredulously._

_“Not particularly,” Seongwoo hums. “They don’t need to know where I am.”_

_“But--” Jihoon begins. He bites his tongue, unsure if he should continue speaking, but Seongwoo looks at him curiously._

_“Have your friends been giving you trouble?”_

_“Yeah…” Jihoon nods. “Well, not trouble. They just…” He looks away. “The scent, for one. I got home in the middle of night that one time as well. They act like there’s nothing wrong, but I can see it in the way they look at me -- they look at me as if they want to object to something I’m doing, but no one ever says anything. And that one time I cut myself -- my healer got worried, and I just snapped at him, and everyone was wondering why I didn’t go home immediately after being injured--”_

_“You shouldn’t have cut yourself,” Seongwoo interrupts. “Not only to save trouble, but also because I don’t want to see you bleed like that ever again.”_

_Jihoon’s expression softens even more at Seongwoo’s words. He takes one of Seongwoo’s hands and cradles it in his grips, stroking the demon’s palm and slotting his fingers in the crevices between Jihoon’s own. Seongwoo glances down at their linked hands, and he gives Jihoon’s grip a comforting squeeze._

_“I don’t know if what I’m doing is wrong,” Jihoon murmurs, “I tell myself it’s not wrong, but the thought of being wrong always comes back to me. Don’t you sometimes think this way too?”_

_“That’s a good question,” Seongwoo replies quietly, “I’m not so sure myself.”_

_“We’re not supposed to be able to fall in love. Love isn’t supposed to exist for us, and nor are we supposed to exist for love. We only are here for one purpose.”_

_“A war,” Seongwoo offers._

_“Yeah. A war.” Jihoon nods sullenly. “But it still happened anyway, didn’t it?”_

_“Do you feel sorry for falling in love?”_

_Jihoon’s grip trembles as he holds Seongwoo’s hand up to his cheek. Seongwoo automatically presses his palm against Jihoon’s skin, his fingers shaking just slightly as they curl inwards marginally over the shape of Jihoon’s face, almost in a possessive manner._

_“I wish I couldn’t feel sorry.”_

_Seongwoo pulls him in closer with a warm palm on the back of his neck. “They know something,” Jihoon whispers, against his lips, and the look in his eyes is shiny and awful -- Seongwoo almost can’t see his own reflection in the black of those pupils he always found so bright and promising. “They know something, and they might do something about it soon.”_

_“Soon,” Seongwoo responds, “but for now, you’re with me. Now, you’re here, and you’re with me.” He pulls Jihoon in for a kiss, and at that moment, the tugging in Jihoon’s heart is a sensation eerily similar to the one he felt the first time he and Seongwoo kissed; but this time around, the emotion he harbors in his chest is one riddled with a sense of disorientation, like he’s about to lose something priceless and precious to him, and the feeling is so overwhelming that a single tear eventually slips its way down his cheek._

* * *

In the way the world works, there are an infinite amount of opportunities, an infinite number of combinations of unfavorable chances and occurrences -- that’s the track the universe runs on, and it is what keeps the expectation of death not the most ominous taste in one’s mouth. There is a less-than-infinite number of these opportunities and combinations of favorable chances and occurrences, and that’s been a rule for as long as people remember and the books record. But for beings who transcend the paths of time, how does this stretch out for them?

Jihoon stares out ahead at the spot he last stood at. There’s that tug to walk there again and wait for _him,_ but he is also aware that his lifetime runs the same track as the world, if not one that is even more unsavory. Sure, maybe the thought of death is not something that’s as poignant to him as it is for humans, but that also means there’s many more instances of so-called “bad luck” for people like him.

Is it really bad luck, though? Jihoon’s wish has been granted.

That doesn’t mean that all wishes are ones that are beneficial, however.

Just like back then, his wish has come true, yet also just like back then, that doesn’t mean that it won’t be crushed in the fist of the world.


	3. close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so late lmao I've been dying as I sub Idol Producer videos + crunching fic for those that have deadlines wow

_It’s something he’s never wished was going to happen, but he knew it would anyways. That’s the nature of the world. He’s just flying along, the tips of his toes grazing the hazy fog that hangs above the city lights, when all of a sudden he catches a whiff of a scent that’s so utterly familiar, sulfurous and dusty and earthy, intermingled with another one that’s strange to him, but just as coarse._

_And then, to his shock, there’s one last scent that he manages to distinguish -- it’s a scent achingly similar to home, a scent that he’s spent his entire lifetime with._

_In a split second, he’s zooming down to the ground, and just as he’d expected, just as he’d dreaded, there’s two large figures cornering a smaller one into the back of an alley, a wing on the smaller figure bloodied._

_“No!” he screams, right when he sees Seongwoo lunge, and he barrels right into his side, the force of their crash sending them both tumbling on the concrete, breaths knocked out. A second later and Jihoon’s managed to roll himself atop Seongwoo, a hand gripped into the collar of the demon’s shirt. They stare at each other while they pant, shell-shocked, as if they’d both seen their worst nightmares._

_But a moment later, there’s fingers digging into the back of Jihoon’s neck, lifting him up and off of Seongwoo. It catches him completely off-guard, and he can’t do anything at that moment besides thrash around -- “Jihoon!” he hears, and there’s the whir of a black blade past his cheek right before hot blood splatters on his skin and the taste of iron seeps its way into his mouth. The hand holding him immediately drops him, and he thuds to the ground chest-first, the air being pounded out of his lungs._

_“Oh god, Jihoon--” Jihoon painstakingly lifts his head, and there’s Woojin running towards him, scarlet stained feathers dropping in his wake. Jihoon feels a shadow hover over him, but then Seongwoo shouts out._

_“Minhyun, stop!”_

_In that moment, everything feels like it freezes. Jihoon sees Woojin’s hand outstretched towards him, he still feels that shadow of the other demon above him, but that shadow isn’t advancing, it's like for a moment one of Jihoon's wishes actually comes true. But a cough later, he’s hacking up saliva and phlegm onto the concrete below him as Woojin’s fingers desperately wrap around his, and suddenly he’s being pulled up onto his feet._

_“Are you able to fly?” Woojin panickedly asks, and he’s staring at something behind Jihoon, eyes wide with fear. One hand is holding up Jihoon by the waist, the other one is gripping a knife._

_“Y-Yeah,” Jihoon coughs out, “j-just--”_

_“Minhyun--” If Jihoon were to turn his head and look behind him, he’d see Seongwoo throwing himself at Minhyun, dragging the other demon down by his feet, and Minhyun looks absolutely nothing short of furious, sparkles of ice climbing its way up his fingertips, only to be melted away by the flame of Seongwoo’s palms._

_“There’s our chance-- go, Jihoon, go--” Woojin drops him and grips onto his hand like he’s holding on for his life, and Jihoon has absolutely no clue what’s going on until Woojin hisses at him, “What are you doing? Go! I’ve got half a wing, I’ll try my best, please--”_

_And all of a sudden he’s dragging Woojin up into the sky, the flap of feathers behind him erratic and rushed, and Jihoon swears the city has never smelled like sulfur and blood so much as it has now._

_An hour and some later, when they’ve stumbled through the doorway to their home and Daehwi’s finished pinning the bandages on Woojin’s left wing, Jihoon sits on Woojin’s bed next to him, cradling one of his hands in his own palms._

_“You know,” Woojin whispers._

_“What?” Jihoon replies._

_“That one demon. Not Minhyun, but that other one. The one with the flames.”_

_Jihoon freezes, and he feels the blood draining from his face. “...What about him?” he answers quietly. Woojin certainly isn’t dumb, Jihoon knows. In fact, Jihoon might as well be the dumb one here -- he’d been hoping, riding on the fact that if anyone suspected anything they’d leave him alone, let him be; but no, things don’t happen like that when you’re an angel. Part of being an angel or a demon is learning to exist in groups, because unlike humans, there’s rarely ever only a singular unit that can create much of a shockwave in the long lifetimes these diviner beings live. You're an ant solo, and you only become something with a group._

_“That’s him. That’s the demon you come home smelling like a lot.”_

_It hits Jihoon like a truck, even though he was already mentally bracing himself for those words. He swallows, and it’s painful, because his mouth and throat are terribly dry. It’s like all the moisture in his entire body has been sucked out by Woojin’s words -- Woojin was one of the last people Jihoon had hoped would be telling him this._

_“I’m not accusing you of anything. I just… I’m just worried.” When nothing but silence greets him, Woojin continues, voice hushed and slightly hesitant. “I don’t think Daehwi and Jinyoung thought I was listening when they were talking, but…”_

_That cold, chilled feeling is spreading from Jihoon’s stomach all the way up to his head and down to his toes. Daehwi and Jinyoung -- they already know? They already have their suspicions?_ Of course, _Jihoon tells himself the moment after, because how could he be so careless, stupid, hopeful?_

_“They thought you might be in love. With that demon.”_

_“I--” Jihoon croaks out. His voice is raspy, as if it’d gone unused for years._

_“Are you?”_

_A pause of silence. Jihoon has no clue if he’s even_ able _to speak._

_“Tell me the truth, Jihoon. Please.”_

_More silence._

_“I’m your best friend, Jihoon. Trust me, I won’t… I won’t do anything to hurt you, no matter what you say. I promise.”_

_“If I am, then what does that mean?” Jihoon whispers, and the latter half of his question turns into a hiss. He braces himself for some kind of scalding remark, digging his fingers into the bedsheets and crinkling them beneath his grip. “What does that make me?”_

_“Woah, woah, I didn’t--” Woojin hurriedly says, his eyes widening at Jihoon’s sudden defensiveness, “I’m sorry, really, I’m just worried, Jihoon-- what’re… what’s going to happen? If all of us have taken notice--well, really, it’s all of us with the exception of Guanlin--that means that most likely we’re not the only ones that know as well.”_

_“How do you know that?” Jihoon retorts, crossing his arms, “Nobody has said anything, nothing out of the ordinary has--”_

_“‘Nothing out of the ordinary’?!” Woojin interrupts, and he tries to sit up, but the sudden jolt of pain from his back makes him sharply suck in a breath and pant, falling back onto the bed as he winces. “Y-You mean that the fact that demon with the flames dragging down the other one--what was his name, Minhyun?--was nothing out of the ordinary?”_

_“Are you telling me that you’d rather that Seongwoo didn’t hold down his friend and then both you and I might as well be dead now?” Jihoon hisses._

_“No!” Woojin cries, “I just mean that if Minhyun doesn’t keep his mouth shut, the demons are going to know too -- that is, if they didn’t already--”_

_At that moment, the door opens, and there’s Daehwi and Jinyoung standing in the doorway, faces frozen in expressions of apprehension and shock. The entire room is silent for several long moments, and Jihoon swivels his head back and forth, assessing each individual in the room -- Daehwi and Jinyoung had been listening, obviously, and only decided to barge in when Woojin and Jihoon’s voices raised._

_“Woojin should rest,” Daehwi says, calmly, shuffling slowly over to the bed, his footsteps light and gentle. “He lost a lot of blood. Let him sleep and recover.” He reaches out, wrapping a hand around Jihoon’s wrist, and his skin is soft and supple, a result of never having gone outside for more than running errands. “Come on, hyung. Jinyoung-hyung and I will cook something for you, alright?”_

_Jihoon lets Daehwi pull him along without a single word, and along with Jinyoung, they leave the room. Before shutting the door, Jinyoung glances back at Woojin, who’s staring at him with narrowed eyes. “I’m sorry,” Jinyoung says softly, and a nervous smile spreads across his lips. “I hope the archangels don’t know too.” He closes the door behind him with a quiet click, and Woojin lets his head fall back down onto his pillow. He stares up at the ceiling, and in front of his eyes, he sees the look of terror that had been mirrored in both Jihoon and Seongwoo’s eyes at that moment when Minhyun had been grasping onto Jihoon by his neck._

* * *

_“I deserve to know,” Jaehwan states, barging right into the dining room._

_“I thought you were sleeping,” Woojin says, flatly. “Go away.”_

_“I live here with you guys, and so therefore I have a right to know what in the world is going on.” Jaehwan crosses his arms, having completely brushed off Woojin’s complaint. “I’m older than the rest of you, but that doesn’t mean I’m oblivious and senile.”_

_Woojin almost slams his forehead down on the table when his head falls. “Whatever,” he mutters, voice muffled, “okay.”_

_Jaehwan smirks smugly. Since there’s no other chairs, he wiggles into the same one as Daehwi, who tries to shove him out of the way by a palm on his face, but gives up soon afterwards as Jaehwan presses into his side._

_“So,” Woojin says, lifting his head back up and placing his chin on his forearms._

_“We’re not letting Jihoon go out alone anymore,” Jinyoung says flatly._

_“_ What?! _” Jihoon exclaims, immediately standing up and slamming his palms down on the table. “You’re joking, right?!”_

_“No,” Woojin replies calmly, closing his eyes for a moment. “No, we’re not, Jihoon.”_

_“How--” Jihoon begins, gasping at Woojin, his eyes wide as saucers, and there’s the stiffening of his facial muscles that signals he’s beginning to become angry, “--how could_ you _of all people agree to this, Woojin?!”_

_“We’re not saying you can’t go out at all,” Daehwi murmurs, and he reaches out a hand to rub Jihoon’s arm soothingly, but Jihoon flinches away. “We’re just worried about you, and so if you’re with one of us we feel more reassured.”_

_“This isn’t-- this isn’t about Seongwoo, is it? No, wait it definitely is, isn’t it,” Jihoon hisses. His fingers are digging into his palms, knuckles a blinding white with force. “I don’t understand why you guys are like this! For one, there’s nothing to worry about. And secondly, what I do_ is none of your damn business. _”_

 _“But it is,” Woojin says softly, looking up at Jihoon with his eyes glazed, “Jihoon, we’re your family. Your_ only _family. If we’re not here to care about you, then who is?” Woojin almost never speaks like this, and all heads turn towards him, some in curiosity, some in surprise. They all purse their lips and keep silent, waiting for him to speak again. Even Jihoon is staring wide-eyed._

Seongwoo cares about me too, _Jihoon can hear himself saying, but the words won’t leave his mouth. He won’t hurt Woojin like this._

_“Please? For us, Jihoon. For me. Listen to us, please.”_

_“...Okay,” Jihoon whispers, and he looks down at his hands. The fuse that’d been building inside him might’ve not been extinguished entirely, but if anything, he’s the only angel out of them able to feel love to a degree that the rest of them don’t recognize. He not only doesn’t want to harm Woojin, but the emotion he feels seeing his friend look so tired and crestfallen makes it so that it’s impossible for him to hurt him._

_There’s a long pause in silence. Daehwi counts a total of eight seconds. The next moment, Jaehwan quietly speaks up. “So… why are we banning Jihoon from going out alone?”_

* * *

_That doesn’t mean that Jihoon doesn’t force himself to stay up later than all the others and wait until they’re all sound asleep. He’s noticeably tired, and he thinks he’d be able to fall asleep standing up. Jaehwan and Jinyoung had gone out for some night roaming, and Daehwi and Woojin have already retired to their beds with a murmur of concern for Jihoon to go to sleep soon as well. The two that are out should return in an hour or two, Jihoon knows, so that gives him just enough time to find Seongwoo, tell him what’s going on, and return home without anyone knowing._

_Seongwoo is sitting on a swing set in a playground when Jihoon finds him. Jihoon hovers high in the air, just barely close enough to see Seongwoo, because he’s not alone. The person he’s with is obviously a demon, because they’re leisurely flitting back and forth in front of Seongwoo. A blur here, a blur there, and Jihoon can’t even make out who they are. Jinyoung could probably tell--he’s the one who keeps tabs on demons, after all--but as far as Jihoon’s knowledge goes, he should be extremely wary. What powers could this demon have?_

_Seongwoo must’ve detected Jihoon near him. Jihoon’s just barely within range, that if a demon were focusing, they’d be able to smell him. Obviously, he is extremely late for their meeting, and Seongwoo must’ve been worried, so he’d kept watchful._

_Jihoon sees him stand up, approaching the other demon with him. He says something, waving his hands around, and points somewhere, gesturing to a place in the far distance. The other demon replies, nods, and in a blur, he’s gone._

_Jihoon lands a minute later. “Hey,” he says, folding his wings behind him._

_“You’re extremely late,” is the first thing Seongwoo says._

_“You’ve got to be joking,” Jihoon snorts, crossing his arms, “that’s the first thing you say to me? Not ‘how are you’, or ‘why are you late’, or ‘I was worried’?”_

_Seongwoo cracks a silly grin. “Okay, fine. How are you? Why are you late? I was worried. Really, I was. I thought you got hurt or something.”_

_Jihoon scoffs quietly, turning away. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ve got something to tell you, and it has to do with why I’m late.”_

_“What?” Now Seongwoo sounds alarmed. It’s one of the few times Jihoon’s heard him sound truly shocked, because Seongwoo isn’t someone that worries easily or thinks too hard. But Jihoon supposes, that when it comes down to the fact that the subject of the matter is Jihoon himself, it would be strange if Seongwoo weren’t even a bit concerned._

_“They know, you see,” Jihoon murmurs. He stares up at the sky, and there are no stars, because the light pollution has shielded them. “They’re not angry, they’re just concerned… did anything happen with Minhyun?”_

_“...I made him promise to not say anything,” Seongwoo replies slowly. Jihoon’s palms are now sweating, and he curls them into the cotton of his jacket. “I don’t know if he’ll keep to that, though. His loyalty is often stronger than his friendships.”_

_“Okay,” Jihoon whispers, “okay.” He closes his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath of the chilly night air, and he senses Seongwoo move closer to him -- there’s a presence hovering over his shoulder. “Don’t touch me,” he says, trying to calm the slight quiver in his voice._

_“...What?”_

_“Because my friends know, they told me that they won’t let me go out unless it’s with one of them. The only reason I’m here, and so late at that, is because I waited until everyone fell asleep. And I can’t come home smelling like you, Seongwoo. They’ll know in an instant.”_

_“That’s disappointing.”_

_Jihoon whips around. “That’s all you have to say?” he asks, an edge in his voice, and now his fists are digging into his jacket._

_Seongwoo glances away for a moment. “What else am I supposed to say? All that’s available to me would be complaints and whining that wouldn’t do anything but annoy and disappoint both of us.” He lifts up an arm, his palm parallel and facing the ground. “Apparently I’m not allowed to even touch you anymore.” At that moment, Jihoon sees the air beneath Seongwoo’s palm waver, and there’s the slow curling of heat that makes its way towards Jihoon’s face, warming up his breaths and soothing over the reddened numbness of his cheeks._

_“This is the only way I can touch you: through the heat and fire of my hands. This is through the only way that I wished I’d never have to touch you.”_

_Jihoon nearly jolts at Seongwoo’s words. He crosses his arms, turning his head away, and stares at the bark chips that fill the area of the playground._

_“I’m still allowed to talk to you, aren’t I?” Seongwoo adds. There’s a sarcastic edge to his voice, because the latter half of his question was flat, but Jihoon’s known him well enough by now that he can detect the layer of concern lining Seongwoo’s words._

_“I’ll try not to get caught,” Jihoon states shortly. He begins to speak again, but his voice is cut short by a yawn._

_“Go home. Go home and sleep.”_

_“Okay,” Jihoon whispers, and he looks up, staring Seongwoo directly in the eye. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turns around, and with the one step he takes, he’s already hovering off of the ground._

_“Stay warm,” he hears behind him. Even though Jihoon is rather chilly, Seongwoo’s words do warm him, just not physically. “Good luck to us, huh?”_

_“Yeah,” Jihoon replies sullenly, “good luck to us.” He’s only flown another meter or so up, before he pauses again. “Hey,” he says -- he knows that Seongwoo is still standing in the exact same spot. “You love me, don’t you?”_

_“Of course. You’ve never given me a reason not to.”_

* * *

_It’s an odd feeling, Jihoon thinks. Their relationship hadn’t really ever felt_ that _forbidden to him, but now with the reality of Seongwoo sitting a meter away from him, staring into his eyes, but not close enough to where Jihoon can see his own reflection in them, it’s all starting to sink in. Whenever he sees Seongwoo now, he also sees the images of his friends’ worried faces flashing through his vision paired alongside their ominous words and thoughts. It’d never been physically spoken between them, but it’s all running through their minds -- if the archangels find out, then what’s going to happen?_

_Will they find out?_

_When will they find out?_

_Jihoon’s been telling himself that nothing will happen, because when you say something over and over again you sometimes come to believe it, and when you believe in something so much sometimes it becomes the truth. But to Jihoon and everyone that surrounds him, there’s always that underlying doubt in their minds, because all of them are collectively stepping into unknown territory. This situation is entirely unheard of, and with unfamiliarity always comes caution and fear. And to some degree, Jihoon can_ sense _that something will happen sooner or later. Because really, when your lifetime is almost infinite, what is there you’re supposed to do? Is Jihoon supposed to keep on sneaking out at night to meet with Seongwoo, sit across the table for him, and have a chat over tea and biscuits? Is he just supposed to keep up this lifestyle, not being able to touch the person he loves, not being able to sleep because their face always flashes through his mind, and just wait until one day one of their own kind kills the other?_

_All that’s in his head now is Seongwoo’s mildly drunken whispers in his ear, the wet press of Seongwoo's lips against the back of his neck, and the way Seongwoo would shift position sitting on the couch in order to adjust to Jihoon curling up at his side. It’s all because these things have become intangible to Jihoon, and his only grasp on them has been reduced to the fading smoke of memories in his mind that play like a film in front of his eyes._

_“I hate this,” he one night tells Seongwoo, and Seongwoo's only reply was the crinkling of his eyes as he gave a sodden smile._ I hate this too, _Jihoon can hear Seongwoo replying, but the demon himself is too drained of energy to be able to do anything besides nod._

_Jihoon can’t even stay for long, because he needs enough time to pass between his meeting with Seongwoo and when his friends wake up in order for any remnants of the demon’s scent to fade from his skin. Even though they don’t come in physical contact, Jihoon can still pick up scents of sulfur and dirt on himself when he flies back home, although they’re not as strong as they once were._

_He wonders how long he can keep this up,_ if _he can keep this up. He wonders when he’s going to die or when Seongwoo’s going to die or when somebody decides to intervene. There’s a limit to everything in this world, he knows. Nothing is ever infinite, especially relationships. Jihoon doesn’t think he could bear any more strain on his and Seongwoo’s relationship, and so he’s lost the will to go out at night. He doesn’t want to risk encountering Seongwoo -- what if he had to_ fight _him? Their friends would expect the two to attempt to kill each other._

_Woojin and Daehwi pick up on his change in demeanor easily. He’s sullen. All he does during the daytime is read, and during the evening he will amuse Daehwi for a bit with various tales Jaehwan’s told him long ago before he goes to sleep (or, sometimes his friends assume he goes to sleep, but he really doesn’t). Woojin and Daehwi don’t say anything about it, but they look at him worriedly. They know there is something going on, but they don’t know what it is._

_Seongwoo of course, also notices this. He always asks why Jihoon looks so down, and Jihoon will insist he’s not. Sometimes he asks why Seongwoo isn’t sad, because he should be sad, but Seongwoo just stares out into the nighttime air and explains that he doesn’t have any more pity and sorrow to give to himself._

_Jihoon wants to vent out his frustrations. He used to do so by fighting, but now that he refuses to use his blade unless it comes to a situation where he must, the only thing he can do is ball his hands into fists and clench his teeth. Maybe he should tell Seongwoo, he thinks. Tell him his frustrations about having someone you want to hold and touch sitting right next to you, but you’re unable to hold and touch. It’s like being so close to achieving your ultimate dream, but you know that it’s impossible -- this is the closest you’ll ever get._

_But the last thing Jihoon wants to do is burden Seongwoo. He shuts his mouth and sucks in a breath of icy air. It burns his throat._

* * *

_The day Sanghyuk drops by, Jihoon knows something’s wrong._

_“Oh, what a lovely surprise,” Daehwi says, when he opens the door. “Hi hyung, why’re you here?”_

_“I just wanted to see my former students, that’s all,” Sanghyuk replies with a chuckle, and he ruffles Daehwi’s hair before taking a step inside. Jihoon, peering from around the corner of the hallway, narrows his eyes. He can practically see the thoughts going through Sanghyuk’s mind: why he’s here. There’s no reason why an angel from the council would visit unless they had something highly important to do._

_Sanghyuk spots Jihoon, and he begins to walk over, the gentle smile he’d adorned never leaving his face. “Jihoon,” he says, his voice soft, “how’re you? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Last time we saw each other was when you were still a student, yeah? And I was still a teacher.”_

_“Hi, hyung,” Jihoon replies warily, his hands never leaving the wall._

_Sanghyuk’s stay isn’t long. He spends the rest of the afternoon with them. Jaehwan gets to meet him (he's a bit older than the rest of them and hadn't had Sanghyuk as a teacher) and wrinkle his nose because he thinks Sanghyuk is too old and mighty for himself. He stays for dinner, and Daehwi and Jinyoung and even Jaehwan are running around the kitchen, trying to cook something decent past leftover rice and meat because all three of them are eager to impress the archangel (yes, apparently Jaehwan as well). Jihoon can’t possibly care -- he stays in his room the whole time. Woojin comes in and asks him why he’s sulking, but Jihoon just says he’s tired. “What in the world have you done to become tired?” Woojin asks critically, “You don’t even go out and fight as often anymore.”_

_This only prompts Jihoon to curl further up into a ball, and Woojin is left sighing exasperatedly as he shuts the door closed behind him._

_But Sanghyuk still manages to wiggle his way into Jihoon’s room later the evening, right before he’s about to leave._

_“Jihoon,” he begins, “really, are you okay? I’m worried about you.” He walks over, there’re his footsteps almost silent against the carpet -- he’d always been the kindest and gentlest out of all the teachers Jihoon had ever had. “You’ve stayed in your room the whole night.”_

_Jihoon doesn’t reply, he just buries his head further into his blanket, and there’s Sanghyuk’s fingers stroking his hair. “I don’t want something bad to happen to you,” he says. “I’m worried about you.”_

_There’re those words again, Jihoon thinks, accompanied by the ones he was looking for. It basically confirms his suspicions._

_“I want you to be careful, Jihoon.”_

_And when the door shuts behind Sanghyuk fifteen minutes later, the first thing Woojin does is take a deep breath and say, “They know. Jihoon, what’ve you been doing?”_

* * *

_Is it really even worth anything? Jihoon asks himself. Is all this effort to lay low worth anything if it hasn’t prevented word from reaching the ears of the archangels?_ I could just throw myself at Seongwoo, I could live with him, I could just try to be a demon too, _Jihoon thinks with a smirk,_ a demon with an angel’s wings. _What could the archangels do about it? Jihoon might as well give up sneaking around, because they already know. Everybody already knows, he believes. Do the demons know? Probably. If Minhyun hadn’t told someone already, then Seongwoo suddenly changing his sleeping schedule in order to accommodate middle-of-the-night visits is bound to arouse suspicion._

_Jihoon carries these thoughts with him the next time he sees Seongwoo. “Hey,” he says, leaning over the bench and almost entirely closing the gap between them._

_“Woah--” Seongwoo goes, and he’s immediately scooting back, “what’re you doing?”_

_“Mmm, they already know, I guess,” Jihoon hums, and he’s moving himself closer. Seongwoo’s now quickly backing himself up, his eyes wide._

_“Jihoon, what’re you doing--”_

_“An archangel came and visited me. They know, but what can they do?” And now Jihoon’s pressed up against Seongwoo, sticking his face right in front of the latter’s nose. Seongwoo looks shell-shocked, but he’s not trying to move away from Jihoon anymore._

_“...If they know,” he begins, quietly, “then should we still be doing this?”_

_“Why not?” Jihoon replies with a pout that curls back up into a devilish smirk. “We tried to stay low, but they figured it out anyways. What more do we have to lose?”_

_Seongwoo purses his lips, remaining silent, and he stares into Jihoon’s gaze that's getting closer and closer. “Seongwoo,” Jihoon whispers, the smile having never left his lips, “Don’t you agree?”_

_And right before their lips are about to touch, there’s a piercing shout -- “Jihoon!”_

_The air in front of Seongwoo’s face is hot, whirring past him, and he hears a loud crash. He immediately clamors onto his feet, and lo and behold, there’s Woojin, having rammed directly into Jihoon._

_Woojin’s clumsily scrambling to his feet -- his eyes are wild, his hair is mussed, and Jihoon’s trying to angrily throw him back onto the ground, but Woojin won’t have any of that. “Jihoon, they’re--” he begins, breathless, and he’s tugging up Jihoon by his collar, his wings trying to flap against the cold night air, but Jihoon’s countering his effort._

_“What the_ hell, _Woojin--”_

_“Shut up, Jihoon! And you--” Woojin points at Seongwoo, “--get out of here, now!”_

_“I-- what?” Seongwoo murmurs, dumbfounded, the panic only just beginning to reach him._

_“Now, you idiot, now!” Woojin’s almost screaming. He averts his attention back to Jihoon, shaking him violently by the collar, “Jihoon, listen to me, please, let’s go already--”_

_Woojin doesn’t see it, because his back is facing it, Jihoon can barely catch it out of the corner of his eye, and Seongwoo has barely enough time to shout out._

_“Stop!” Jihoon cries out, as Woojin’s being plucked off of Jihoon like he’s nothing but a rag, but Jihoon’s wrists are grabbed, twisted behind his back, a piece of cloth held to his nose and mouth, and the last thing Seongwoo remembers is feeling something icy grab at his throat before the world beneath his feet falls and suddenly he’s spinning in a whirlpool of black._

* * *

_He’s chained, he can’t move. He’d yell, but he feels the press of a blade against the back of his neck, and there’s someone above him telling him, “Be quiet.”_

_He can see ahead of him. There’s Seongwoo, thrown against the marbled tile floor, his knees banging, and Jihoon winces. When Jihoon turns his head, he sees Woojin on the other side of the room, a gash sliced vertically down his arm, and he’s bleeding out onto the floor, one cheek pressed into tile. Only his wings are chained, but it’s not like he’d be able to move if they weren’t. He catches Jihoon’s eye, and his stare is full of regret. Jihoon can practically hear him saying,_ I’m sorry.

_“We only get these cases once every couple of thousand years. Fascinating,” Jihoon hears, and he can’t move his head and look up to see who it is._

_This is where his memory begins to fuzz. He thinks it might be because he doesn’t want to remember any of it -- he wants to deny it ever happened, but if he concentrates enough, the regret and guilt is still fresh. There’s the rapid flap of wings, a dagger held in the hand of someone he doesn’t know, and split second later Jihoon’s vision turns red, partially from his screaming, and partially because that’s the color he sees splattering the gray and white marble floor. He can’t care that there’s a blade pressed to the back of his neck, he’s thrashing around and he feels it dig into his skin, but the pain’s nothing compared to how much he hurts at that moment, because he can practically feel Seongwoo’s blood staining his own hands -- this was entirely his fault, he believes, and that’s the only thought he can comprehend at the moment._

_“Hyung, stop, please!” Daehwi cries, and in a moment he’s flown over and is grabbing onto Jihoon’s head, cradling him in his arms, trying to shield his eyes, but Jihoon won’t have any of it. There’s another pair of limbs trying to hold onto him from his other side. He writhes around, trying to kick them away, but his wrists and ankles are tied._

_“Shh, please, hyung, it’s going to be okay, I promise, I promise, please--” Daehwi’s still trying to shield his eyes, he’s now also madly stroking his hair, repeating the words “okay” and “please” like a mantra, but Jihoon can’t really hear him at all. He’s going mad. All of his physical senses are numbed. He can’t even feel the screaming sensation as the pair of wings behind his back begin to burn, a flame creeping up the white feathers, searing them black before they vanish into nothing but a sparkling gray ash._

_Angels, they never really know what it feels like to fall, both physically and figuratively. But for Jihoon, he’s so familiar with both that all he remembers is what falling is like._

* * *

Jihoon, he knows he should listen to Woojin, but he can’t. It’s all coming back to him in a whirlwind of sulfur and dust, even though he’s never smelled those scents strongly for centuries. He stands at that oak, staring into the wind, and he tucks his hands into his pockets. Today, he doesn’t have any classes until the late afternoon, but he’s still come all the way to the middle of campus.

The first step he takes is shaky. His heart is racing, and there’s a nervous fluttering in the pit of his stomach. He almost feels like retching, but he pushes past the feeling. The second step is easier. The third, the easiest. The fourth and onward are like nothing to him. He tells himself to walk slowly. Take his time, let himself feel the breeze blowing by his face and hear the muted chatter of passing students. These sensations will become nothing to him very soon -- he will be consumed in a whirlpool of memories and regrets and newfound wishes that will wither into wounds as they paint a wreath of scars on his heart.

He can see it coming, these emotions, but he still walks onward, because once you’ve gotten the taste of a forbidden fruit, the desire for more is always at the edge of your conscious. Three strides more, and he’s halfway there.

There’s a short time before he stops where he knows _he_ would appear, but it nonetheless flies past Jihoon’s face like a silent bullet. Several seconds more, he thinks, and he closes his eyes for those moments, counting in his head, preparing himself both physically and mentally.

And when he opens them, there _he_ is, walking down the road towards him, and Jihoon takes a deep breath.

“Hey,” he says, calmly and loudly, approaching _him_ with hesitant footsteps.

“Me?” _he_ asks, pointing at himself and stopping in his tracks.

Jihoon feels dizzy as he nods, because this face, this figure, this _voice_ \-- he’s missed them all so much, and now centuries of longing are hitting him like the waves of the tsunami. He thought he could grieve no longer, but in reality he’s grieved so much that he doesn’t know what grieving is, and even the slightest spark of hope is able to reignite the flame that is his hysteria.

“What’s your name?” Jihoon asks, and he’s wincing because the tone of his voice quivers just slightly. He takes a step closer to _him,_ and Jihoon swears he’s never felt more like fainting than he does now.

“I’m Ong Seongwoo,” _he_ replies casually, “why?”

Jihoon sobs as he lunges forward, his arms wrapping around Seongwoo’s neck, and he’s burying his face into Seongwoo’s shoulder. Everything about him is the same, even shape of the dip between his shoulder and his neck, and Jihoon knows this, _feels_ this, because he's tucked his cheek countless times against Seongwoo like this in the past.

Seongwoo hesitantly lifts up his hands, placing them gently on Jihoon’s back. “Woah--” he begins, alarmed, but with the way Jihoon’s madly holding onto him, he can’t do anything but feel that there’s something wrong with this guy -- he’s got a kind of problem that only Seongwoo thinks he can solve. He has no clue how he's reached this conclusion, but the feeling of urgency hits him for some odd reason.

He lets his hands rest on Jihoon’s back. “This sure is a way to say hello,” he jokes nervously.

Jihoon’s so lost, he doesn’t know whether he’s living in the past or the present. But there’s something that tells him it’s the present, because although Seongwoo is essentially the same as Jihoon remembers him, there’s one small detail that’s off:

The scent of sulfur and dirt and earth is gone. Instead, it’s replaced with a smell similar to that of clean air -- nothing except for the remnants of soap, essentially.

As Jihoon presses his cheek into the side of Seongwoo’s neck and clutches at Seongwoo’s jacket like he’s holding on for his life, he can already see his future, he can already see fate taunting him with a piece of his dream, and now that he’s taken the bait, he’s already on the spiral downwards again.

Maybe Seongwoo is no longer the demon Seongwoo, but that doesn’t prevent Jihoon from loving this Seongwoo, this _human_ Seongwoo, even though he can see, taste, and smell what’s in store for him, what he must go through once more, simply because he’s an angel that’s fallen in love, and he both can’t and refuses to climb out of love.

Love and falling: these are two concepts and feelings that most angels are unfamiliar with -- they’re entirely foreign concepts, simply nothing but rumors and whispers in ears, having never been documented in books.

But for Jihoon, these two aspects have become a part of himself, and he will never give them up no matter how much he is hurting -- they’re as familiar to him as the action of breathing, and if he gives them up, that also means he will give up the one person that has made him happier than anyone else in his entire lifetime, no matter what form they may be in.

* * *

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [SEpupppupp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForNought/pseuds/SEpupppupp) for taking her time to proofread and leave her commentary! Thanks, grandma!


End file.
